


Whisper in the Storm

by CaptainTarthister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cumshot, Cunnilingus, Declarations Of Love, Dirty Talk, Disability, Doggy Style, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits, Kinky, Kissing, Licking, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Phone Sex Operator Brienne of Tarth, Physical Disability, Pre-Ejaculation, Rape Fantasy, Scars, Spooning, Squirting, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Jaime finds comfort and freedom through nightly talks with a phone sex operator named Zaphyre.





	1. Easier to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kristilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristilove/gifts).



> A long-overdue birthday gift for my twin Kristilove! She's been wonderful being patient with me. She asked for a fic, gave the prompt. I hope I do it justice! 
> 
> Here ya go, my twin! Happy, happy birthday to you! I'm so sorry this took so long.

 

Sleep had eluded him, and the doctor refused to write him a prescription for it. He had just about avoided a desperate dependence on painkillers. Anxiety medication were all he could be given but being calm did nothing to his restlessness.

It would be easy to just put a coat on and walk the city in the night. He had never been afraid of the dark, but the loss of his hand made him hesitant to venture out. He could barely wipe his ass with his left, let alone defend himself if some thug went after his wallet and phone.

 _Try_ , his brother told him, the pinched features of his face drawing even tighter. He would laugh at his baby brother urging him. That was his job. He was older. Bigger. More powerful. But no more. Gone were the tailored suits, in their place shapeless sweaters and faded jeans. His reading materials were no longer details of the latest case to prosecute but medical journals.

When his twin sister saw the growing pile of articles about reconstructive surgery and harvesting body parts, she shook her head. _You’re driving yourself insane._ He ignored her and she shut up, both knowing he would only stop reading them if he wanted to. His brother and sister meant well but they would never know how he felt. They were still themselves. Complete.

Somehow, he mustered up the courage to venture out into the street during another restless night. The city seemed a graveyard. Buildings with lights snuffed out still and silent. The sound of the wind the pained howl of a ghost. He crossed streets and passed by alleys were the homeless and the hopeless converged, either curled up on the ground or murmuring what were probably prayers for the Stranger as they stared dazedly at a needle to be shared.

He sometimes watched them, holding his breath as they flitted or shuffled across the street like weary ghosts. He understood. Knew how it felt to be a ghost despite the air in his lungs. He hardly felt the weight of clothes on his back, the press of his feet on the ground. But the need for sleep—it was a longing no different from the hollowness of an empty stomach, the acute ache in the heart of the tormented. Perhaps it’s what set him apart from the lost souls that wandered the streets at night. 

It was during one of his walks that he first spotted the ads. He never had a map in his head nor a clear destination when he did this, so he usually ended up in unexpected and strange places.

The city had cracked down on prostitution in recent years, but they were still around, men and women in tight clothes two sizes too small peddling their tits or ass for every car that pulled up or any pedestrian that just happened to glance their way. He kept his head down as women tried to lure him with promises of Seven Heavens between their legs.

As he hurried to cross the street, he saw the ads of full-lipped women with tits straining under their miniscule tops. _Feeling Lonely?_ Their eyes asked, lips pursed in a pout or half-parted as if in the middle of orgasm, phone pressed to the ear.

He passed them enough times to memorize the numbers, and even a name. When the sky fell in heavy torrents one night, he was stuck at home, restless and uneasy. He had come to rely on those long walks to help with sleep, but he’d had only a little success. It was too late to call his brother for a drink at the bar. His sister, early to bed and rise to cart her children to school and open the day-care business, would not appreciate being awakened unless for an emergency.

He sighed, staring at the phone in his hand, hit with the growing realization that there was no one else to call besides his family. No friend. No lover. For all the good he’d done removing criminals from the streets, he had no one that could be called a good friend. Not to mention a hand short.

There was one other number he knew besides his brother’s and sister’s. And a name.

He sighed, sat down and tapped the number. Two rings. Then the pitched, whispery voice of a woman instructing him on the numbers to press on the menu she would be reading out loud. He cringed as she rattled off a list of fetishes and kinks before running through an alphabetical list of names.

He could hang up anytime but listened. Listened until one name stood out. A name he remembered from the ads. No bullshit that it wasn’t her real name, nor was the actual person on the ad. It should be enough for him to hang up but he stayed on and pressed a number that linked to her name.

A beep.

“Hello,” a deep, throaty voice purred in his ear. “This is Zaphyre.”

 

******  
He had never done this. Never had to do any work to snag a woman and get her to spread her legs for him. These truths tumbled out of his lips like a confession.

“Honey,” Zaphyre told him. “Has no one told you before there’s a first time to everything?”

“Not like this, sweetheart,” he snapped, sitting heavily on the chair. He was shaking.

“Well, if this is your first time, no judgment. That’s what I’m here for. Make your first time memorable.”

He grunted, “This isn’t happening.”

“What do _you_ want to happen?”

He stared at the phone in disbelief.

“Honey? Are you still there?”

“N-No one has asked me that,” he said, raising his arm to brush a hand on his hair only to be confronted by his scarred stump. He sighed heavily.

“What else has no one asked you about?”

“If I still want to live.”

“Oh. Honey.” Zaphyre made a tutting sound. “Why do think people should ask you that?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve. . .I’ve ceased to be someone asked. I’m told. I’m given prescription. Told, told, told. I want the right to think instead of having decisions made for me.”

“Did someone tell you to call me, honey?”

“No.”

“You mean you decided on your own?”

“I’m still capable,” he said defensively.

“Not disputing that, honey. Oh no, no, no.” She sounded like she was talking to a child. “Now, I’m about to ask a question that I’m sure someone has asked you. You don’t have to answer. Just tell me to shut up about it, okay? Honey? What’s your name?”

His name?

“Jaime. My name’s Jaime.”

 

*****  
He woke up in the morning sprawled over the bed, pillows under his cheek and chest. The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was his stump. Daylight was harsh. The scars bulged. Ugly. Then came the ache, reminding him of the hand that was no longer there.

His heart was heavy, yet he did not struggle getting up this time. He glanced at his phone on the nightstand.

He was on sabbatical, but money didn’t grow on trees. Not particularly smart, resorting to calling a phone sex operator. But it had been better than any therapy. There would always be heaviness in him, he thought, staring at his stump. But today, he believed things were easier.

No. He _knew_.

He took a quick shower and dressed in a t-shirt, sweater, jeans, thick socks and boots before slipping on his coat. Today was Wednesday. It meant breakfast with Cersei and her children. A ritual they had somehow fallen into. Jaime didn’t mind. Cersei would kill herself first before admitting she needed help, but he knew his presence comforted her, in a way.

His sister’s divorce was dragging on. She refused to disclose the fine details, but he knew that Robert, her soon-to-be-ex, was contesting the alimony terms as well as the times the children were to spend with him. The longer the divorce dragged on, the faster what savings Cersei had lessened. He also knew that it would be nearly ten months since Robert moved out, yet he had only seen the children three times.

Cersei lived in a small, three-bedroom house. As Jaime went up the steps leading to the front door, he heard the children arguing, and their mother’s admonishment. He rang the doorbell.

“Uncle Jaime!” Myrcella exclaimed as she opened the door. She was eight, Robert’s dark hair and Cersei’s green eyes. A beautiful child, who clearly forgot that her uncle was missing a hand as she suddenly leaped in his arms and demanded to be carried. He didn’t mind. His left arm could get stronger.

“You’re here,” Cersei said to him when he reached the kitchen. “Myrcella, help your uncle with his coat then finish your pancakes. Joffrey, your math workbook is on the sofa. Get it, will you?”

Jaime lowered Myrcella to a chair as Cersei assembled a plate for him. Pancakes and bacon. She plunked it in front of him without a word and returned to her seat. He didn’t ask her what the matter was. No need to. The exhaustion on her beautiful face was obvious.

She looked more like him now, he thought. They shared thick, golden hair, clear, green eyes, and elegant, sculpted features that it was next to impossible to get a bad photo of them. She was the vibrant one, confident. Polished and gorgeous, she took care of herself until Robert left. Now her slim figure had softened as the toll of the divorce continued. Her delicate wrists crossed to thick, and the curve of her waist obscured by the growing rolls of her stomach.

Cersei, sitting at the head of the table, nodded when Joffrey returned with his math book. He was blond and green-eyed, her mini-me. He smiled at Jaime and without warning, climbed on his lap, ignoring Cersei’s loud sighs.

“Let him,” Jaime assured her, letting his five-year-old nephew sit on his thigh. “He misses his f-a-t-h-e-r.”

“You’re looking well,” she remarked, tilting her head to the side before sipping her coffee.

“Had a good night’s sleep for the first time last night,” he explained, flushing. He hoped she wouldn’t ask what he did. Not that anything shameful happened. But calling a stranger, through a sex hotline, no less, was bound to get raised eyebrows.

“Lucky you.” Cersei murmured.

Joffrey’s small hand wrapped around his stump. Jaime didn’t know what to say but lucky was not exactly a word that would apply to him. No more.

 

******  
The night was lit up with stars. Jaime was once again dressed to go out for his walk—coat, glove, and now a hat to protect his head from the cold.. There was no great effort to grasping the doorknob and turning it, pulling it. Yet he could only stare at the door, then the window, and back.

His phone pressed on his side.

 _There’s no harm to it,_ he thought, turning away from the door and already dialing a number he had inexplicably saved last night.  


*****

In that first week, he called Zaphyre four times.

The following week, six.

It didn’t take long to become a habit.

Sex was not on the menu in their nightly talks, although Zaphyre’s voice certainly made him warm and conjured up images of sweat-slicked skin and rumpled sheets. She specialized in BDSM and dirty talk but had yet to mention anything about tying him up or what she wanted to do with his cock. They talked about everything and anything that came up except for sex.

When he met Tyrion at a bar for a drink, his brother remarked he looked well. Really well, in fact. Cersei seemed to think that he looked well-rested only because of sleep. Jaime _had_ been sleeping better, and it was thanks to a total stranger on the other line, whose husky voice unspooled him easily with a question as mundane as the brand of his favorite soda.

He had no trouble telling Zaphyre about his father. The man was five years dead but it felt longer, for he had lost interest in his children after his wife’s death. The bitterness poured out of Jaime like a deluge. He filled Zaphyre’s ears with his pathetic, long-ago hurts from the soccer games his father had missed, or how all he knew about driving came from Driver’s Ed and nothing more. That when he finished second in his class in law school, all he got was a smug, “As expected, Jaime,” before his father had to sign a delivery order.

He shared to Zaphyre dreams that would never see fulfilment, like rock-climbing the Mountains of the Morn. Or drive a sports car at the top speed.

Or lift a woman against the wall, heft her over his shoulders and tongue her cunt.

Jaime told Zaphyre that a month later. She had asked a simple question: _What do you dream about?_ And he had answers. Again, with a simple question, he had revealed to her more than he wanted to.

“Must it be against a wall? Do you have to lift her like that?” Zaphyre asked, unfazed by the sudden turn of their conversation. “Why not taste her like that in bed?”

Jaime had to smile. “The power is the turn-on for me. She has no choice but to take me.”

“Is that what you like? Fucking women like that?”

Jaime enjoyed going down on women. They smelled the truest between their legs, so warm and fragrantly female. And the _flavor_. No woman tasted the same. No cunt looked the same either. That’s what made tonguing them so pleasurable. Different from each other yet Seven Heavens on the tongue.

“What’s not to like?” Jaime asked Zaphyre. “Heaven on earth is between a woman’s legs.”

“Is that for all women, Jaime?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Tell me how you’d take me. If I’m somebody you know well enough to want to taste.” She sounded breathless. His cock stirred. “How will you get me to spread my legs for you?”

Jaime squirmed in his seat. “Do you really want to know?”

“Don’t you want me to know?” She whispered. “Tell me how it’s like with you, Jaime.”

As she spoke, he heard a rustle. “What was that?”

“I just crossed my legs.” A pause. “I’m getting wet.”

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure an image. _Zaphyre_. He knew it was a false name, but he needed something of hers that was real. If that was possible. He needed to know if it was dark or fair hairs glistening on her cunt.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “What’s your hair color?”

“Blond. I have blue eyes too. Would you like to know how big my tits are?”

“Not now. Tell me about your cunt. How wet are you?”

“Soaking.” He heard the snap of fabric. Or something. “I had to get rid of my panties because I’m so wet. Will you fuck me, Jaime?”

Blond hair and blue eyes. A generic description that applied to millions of women but enough for Jaime to imagine her. She would be in bed, her legs spread. Blond cunt hairs getting dark from the moisture pouring out of her. If only he could smell her.

“Tell me what perfume you use,” he whispered, his hand slipping under his pajamas. He sighed as his fingers closed around his hard length.

“What?”

“I need to know how you smell.”

 

*****  
It became their pattern. Long conversations about nothing and everything that somehow veered to sex, and then Jaime would ask how her cunt smelled. Her answer never changed. She claimed to take bubble baths in anticipation of their talks, dipping herself in candy-themed scents like Vanilla Pop and Caramel Surprise. Her lotion was a generic drugstore brand—Bolton’s Formula. She didn’t use perfumes.

Something told him that while she was definitely lying about being blond and wet all the time, her choice of scents was true. Jaime found them easily enough—they were in every supermarket and drugstore in the city.

There was nothing strange with buying them. Cersei and Tyrion were always pressing him to take good care of himself. What was wrong with a thirty-five-year-old man having candy-scented bubble baths?

The smell of vanilla and Bolton’s Formula was different him, of course. Body chemistry and all. But it gave him an idea how Zaphyre smelled between her legs. He imagined her hands rubbing sensual circles of the lotion on her thighs.

“I’ve been thinking of you,” she told him one night.

“You have?”

“Hmm.” The soft, velvety purr of her voice drew his cock at attention. “You’ve tongued me against the wall, on the kitchen table, on the floor of a subway train with people watching us.” He smiled at the scenarios they’ve sketched for each other through the phone lines, interspersed with heavy breathing and moans. Zaphyre had a moan that could drive the saintliest to confession.

“We’ve done all these things,” she continued. “You know the color of my bush. But you’ve never told me anything about your cock.”

He cocked an eyebrow at the thoughtful note of her tone. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you want me to know?” She giggled. “Honey. Jaime. Come on. You know I’m allergic to strawberries. I know you’re missing a hand. Are you hung like a monster?”

He had to laugh. Out of all the questions to ask. But her service promised sex through the lines. “Perhaps not monster-size, sweetheart. But you have to be a very strong woman to take me.”

“Why is that?”

“I can fuck for hours,” he admitted. “It’s rare that I fuck somebody just once in a night. I enjoy fucking. Getting scratched. Nothing compares to the gift of being inside a woman who wants you.”

She startled him with the burst of sputtering, motorboat sounds that swelled to laugh, manic laughter. Jaime held the phone away from his ear, hearing her still despite the distance. Her voice made him hard. Her laugh was. . .unsettling. Hardly pleasant to the ear but not something he could immediately dislike.

“What’s so funny?” He demanded.

“Don’t you realize how crude you can get one minute and then poetic in the next?” She asked, still breathing sharply through her gentling laughter.

He shrugged. Realized she couldn’t see him, said, “It’s just how I am.”

“I think it’s great. No room for anything resembling poetry in my job. I’m just saying,” she said, clearing her throat. “You make it easier.”

 

*****  
Jaime groaned, sinking heavily on the pillows as he rubbed his cock in furious, rapid strokes. The phone was on speaker mode and he could hear Zaphyre’s deep, throaty grunts and the soft squish of her fingers pumping in and out of her cunt.

“I’m fucking you,” he gasped, squeezing his cock so tightly his eyes popped open. “You’re riding me like you’re at the Dothraki Derby. You’re sweating all over me. I can taste you. I can smell you. _Fuck_ ,” he growled, tugging at his cock, simulating the pull of her mouth. “You’re tight. You feel like the hottest, dirtiest dream, Zaphyre.”

“Jaime,” she moaned. _“I’m coming.”_

She wailed as he shouted, watching with amazement as his load arced from between his thighs before falling on the blanket. As he flopped back in the bed with a sated, idiotic smile, he heard Zaphyre sigh. He turned to the phone, imagining a blond, blue-eyed woman lying next to him, flushed with sweat and mirroring his satisfaction.

Listening to her pant, she murmured, “I’ve never come so hard.”

It was bullshit but he didn’t mind. He’d never felt this good. “That’s what you say to everyone.”

“Hmm. But I really mean it this time.”

He narrowed his eyes at the phone. Then it came. Her loud, uncouth laugh that had strangely become an endearing sound to him.

“I knew you were just fucking with me,” he said, grinning and shaking his head.

 

*****

 “Jaime, I don’t know if I can ask. But I will anyway,” Zaphyre told him one night.

“I think there’s nothing off the table with us, sweetheart.” He assured her, relaxing against the pillows.

“Alright.” She took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

He chuckled. “Are you going to ask me to donate a kidney or something?”

“No, honey. I want. . I want to ask. . .about your hand.” She stammered. “How did it happen?”

Jaime wanted to tell her to shut up. She had no business. But they have been talking nearly night after night for almost three months. He’d asked her to take part in sex scenarios he had never told another human being. It seemed only fair for her to ask this question and get answers.

“I did my job too well.”

*****  
  
Too lazy to make himself breakfast, Jaime went to the neighborhood diner one morning. He usually went there on Fridays, not a Wednesday. But Cersei had to accompany Myrcella on a field trip, and left Joffrey with Robert. Jaime had offered to look after his nephew but Cersei was insistent on having Robert do his job. She hated the man, whose proposed alimony terms would have him contributing an amount that didn’t even cover monthly food expenses. But he was still the children’s father.

The diner wasn’t very full, so Jaime still got his preferred table, one of the booths by the window. Warmer days were ahead and he had missed the brightness of the sun. He didn’t have to look at the menu when a waitress, a young woman with her dark hair in a pixie, approached to take his order.

“I’ll have scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, five strips of bacon, and coffee. Make it black, with two sugars,” he told her. “And a slice of cherry pie.”

She smirked as she took his order. “Planning on killing yourself, aren’t you?”

“There are worse ways to go,” he squinted at the letters on her nameplate. “Bernadette. You’re new. Where’s Ros?”

“She’ll be here in a while. Her little boy’s been sick, but she’ll be here today,” Bernadette answered. “I’ll have your order brought right away.”

“Oh, and uh, Ros knows this. But I need to have my good pre-cut.”  Flushing, Jaime showed her his stump. Bernadette looked startled and almost reeled back until she caught herself.

“Right,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Sorry. You startled me.”

She couldn’t leave him fast enough. When she returned with his order, she kept her head down, refusing to look at him though he could tell how hard she was trying not to look at his arm hidden under the table.

Jaime ate quietly, absently watching other diners eat and talk among themselves. All of them had places to go, things to do. Doing something worthwhile, unlike him. Besides the physical therapy, group counseling and the weekly trips to the supermarket and the dry laundry service, nothing else kept him preoccupied. Well, working out—he kept dumbbells and a treadmill back home, and nightly phone sex with Zaphyre.

There was something freeing about being just a voice to someone. The absence of scrutiny and judgment made it easier to breathe—at times, literally. A year before, Jaime could easily approach any woman, give her his dimpled smile and tell her he was an assistant prosecutor at the DA’s office. That was all it took for a woman to melt in his arms. But now? Now that he was maimed?

Through the glass, he saw himself: blond hair grown thick and shaggy, just about brushing his shoulders because he hadn’t had a haircut for months, green eyes that an ex-lover once described were the shade of emeralds, his handsome face obscured by the thick beard he couldn’t be bothered to trim regularly. His t-shirt had been worn for two days straight. He looked no better than a homeless person or worse, he thought, taking note of his bloodshot gaze, a druggie.

As he dug a fork into soft shell covering the bed of juicy cherries inside, he heard a laugh. Nasal motorboat sounds.

With the fork, he stabbed a cherry and brought it to his mouth, tongue flicking at the slick surface. The laughter continued. Loud. A most inelegant sound between snorts and wheezing.

He stilled, realizing where he had heard that laugh before.

His head whipped around just as a group of four, three men and one woman, got up from the table. A tall man with unruly red hair, another with cropped black hair then the third, a woman with long, auburn hair in a ponytail. But it was blond that stood the tallest among them that arrested his attention.

Not a man, he realized when she turned sideways, thrusting her chest as she pulled on her cardigan. Small tits, slight protrusions of flesh under a plain white t-shirt. Nipples straining against the cloth. Jaime found himself holding his breath, knowing in his gut who this woman was. He willed her to look at him.

And she did.

It was the ugliest face he had ever seen.

Blotchy skin overwhelmed with freckled. A big, crooked nose. A thick-lipped wide mouth. Tendrils of her pale hair kept falling over her eyes, which were a most astonishing shade of blue.

Jaime swallowed. _Sapphires._

Just as quickly as she turned to him, she spun on her heel, giving him her back again as she finished putting on her cardigan. Her companions had backpacks and books. So did she. The red-haired guy left bills on the table and smiled at her. She ducked her head and as she went to leave, Jaime saw her profile and her pink cheeks.

Definitely the ugliest woman he had ever seen. Jaime flung a few bills to the table and tucked his wallet back in his jeans pocket as he went after the foursome.

The sidewalk was crowded but he immediately saw the messy pale blond bob of the tall woman as she followed her friends. Keeping his eyes on her, Jaime wove his way into the crowd, his heart racing, his gait unsteady because his knees were shaking. Why he was doing this, he had no idea. It was a mistake—surely Zaphyre’s laughter was not that unique?

He followed them until they turned around the corner and walked some more. He stepped back, stopping next to a newsstand as he watched them cross towards Westeros University. The blond giant was laughing again, her mouth opening wide as she let out those motorboat, wheezing sounds.

Jaime went back to the diner and found Bernadette wiping their table clean. “The four that were just here. Red-haired guy. Tall, blond woman—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bernadette muttered with a shrug as she sprayed disinfectant. “They just started coming here a few days ago. College kids.”

“Do you know them?”

_Seven above, why was his heart racing so fucking fast?_

“Not personally. But I hear the hot, dark-haired guy is called Renly. And the blond is Brienne. Or Bree. Now I’m not too sure.”  Bernadette said. “But I know she’s from Tarth. The red-haired guy mentioned it, I think. Not sure who did now but definitely one of them. They were teasing her.”

“Tarth?” Jaime echoed, feeling something click in his brain. “From the Sapphire Isle?”

“Is that what it’s called too? My, I had no idea. No wonder I’m a waitress. Come to think of it,” she added, snapping her fingers. “I think she has this nickname. Sapphire. And the other girl said something how the spelling made it porny. Something about putting the letter Z?”


	2. Only A Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wished it made sense—how this stranger on the phone had somehow reached into the very heart of her that she believed to know his exact brand of desolation, while another man who was very much in her life, had known her so intimately, could never rouse anything close to what she had with Jaime.  
> It came as sudden as death. Yet she felt so very much alive.
> 
> ****  
> Please mind the time cards! :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I'm so thankful for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. Keeping that in mind, I tried to do make this update better, or at least, as satisfactory as it can get given my limited abilities with angst and rendering some scenes, as you will see. 
> 
> Besides the length which made this bloody difficult, I also had to introduce Brienne and her thoughts, and show her engaging in sex with someone else besides Jaime. Brienne as a virgin in Modern AU is very unlikely for me, and she's hardly shown banging anyone else besides Jaime, first and only raider of her lady garden (mucho thanks to catherineflowers for giving this very apt description of Brienne's vajayjay). So. . .I tried to make those scenes as plausible as it can given her canon character and then my own Modern AU extrapolation based on it. 
> 
> Many of you might disagree with what I've done. Some of you probably won't even like it, and I perfectly understand that. But let's not forget that the gift of fan fiction is it allows writers to put favorite characters in different situations, to create worlds outside of canon. I'm all for pushing the imagination to the limits and originality. 
> 
> One last thing, if you don't like the couple tag, you don't have to read it. If you don't like what I've done with the couple, spare me the vitriol and just keep following your favorite fics. 
> 
> ******
> 
> I owe catherineflowers my life and my cats for all the patience and listening she has given me for all the crying, wailing and frustration I had with this chapter. Thank you so much, dear!
> 
> ******  
> To my twin, Kristlove, I give you. . .Brienne and Tormund!

**_A year before the events in Chapter One_ **

Brienne, Margaery, Tormund and Renly burst into the tiny lobby of the building, laughing and dripping from the rain. Each looked worse than the other, even Margaery. Her hair was a limp, wet mess and her mascara was smudged. Renly said she looked like a racoon. Brienne ran her fingers through her wet hair, catching Tormund’s eye.

“We should all get warm quick,” Margaery announced, taking over as usual. She grabbed Renly by the hand, winking at him. “And I know how to get you warm.”

Brienne watched as the couple giggled to themselves, by now having forgotten their other friends as they raced up the rickety stairs. She sighed, glancing at the sign hanging by the elevator indicating it was out of order again. Tormund cleared his throat.

“Well, you’re home safe. I should get going—”

Thunder suddenly boomed and plunged the lobby into darkness. Brienne burst out laughing.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, making out the tumble of his curly hair and tall, broad-shouldered figure in the dark. “Come with me. I have hot drinks and dry clothes. It’s dangerous to be out. Stay—Stay with me.”

They used the flashlight in their phones to navigate the climb to the fourth floor. Margaery lived in the floor above. Tormund held his phone over Brienne as she fumbled with the keys to her apartment. “I’m afraid my place is a mess,” she apologized, flushing.

“It’s warm and dry. That’s all it matters. Thanks for doing this.” Tormund assured her as she opened the door.

“What are friends for,” she murmured, making out the shape of his unruly hair and shoulders in the dark. A sudden quiet fell over him and she felt his gaze on her. She broke the spell by directing her eyes to the floor.

“I’ll go see if there are candles. Come in. Make yourself comfortable. The bed also serves as a sofa, but you know that already.”

“Um, I’m dripping all over your floor, Brienne. Maybe not.”

“Oh. Right.”

Brienne once again used her phone to light her path towards the cupboard. Tarth, where she grew up, was stormy nearly year-round. She loved the cold, windy nights, huddled under the comforter, listening the ocean waves crashing outside. Sometimes the power would be out. It made stormy nights more magical to her.

The heavy rain raging outside was a whimper compared to the storms in Tarth, although it had killed the power. She pawed the cupboard for the pack of candles.

She used three of the coffee mugs as candle holders, and placed one of each on the dining table, the kitchen sink and her desk. While she lit up the last with a lighter, Tormund shrugged off his jacket and began toeing off his shoes.

 “Just leave it,” she told him then gestured at the door to the bathroom. “You can shower there. I’ll bring clothes to you.”

He grinned. “It’s so great that we’re the same height.”

She blushed, nodding. He was six-foot-three like her, but a bit broader in the shoulders. She looked away as he pulled off his shirt and left it draped on one of the chairs by the dining table before going to the bathroom. A second later, she heard the swoosh of the shower.

Brienne left his shirt on the chair and put his jacket on the other. She hurried out of her soaked clothes, hanging them on the bars at the foot of her bed. She shivered through the task, her nipples becoming taut points. Then she pulled a thick robe on and went to her small closet for a change of clothes for herself and Tormund.

Hugging a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt to her chest, she knocked on the door of the bathroom. “Clothes,” she said.

“Right. Thanks for doing this,” Tormund said, opening the door. She handed him the clothes. Their eyes met before she looked away, feeling the heat flaring in her cheeks.

As he changed, she fired up the stove and heated water. She still had a pack of coffee good for a cup and a half, and an unopened box of tea. She pulled that out of the cupboard and found more mugs.

As she waited for the water to boil, she looked out of the window. It was early evening, but the entire block was black. Not even the stars could be seen. If she closed her eyes, she would be back in Tarth. In her childhood bed. Under her favorite blanket. _Home._

Hand on her heart to ease the tightness there, watching the rain and its memories were reminders that she could no longer go home—not to the home she knew. Her old bedroom was gone, for it had been split into two rooms to accommodate her stepbrother and stepsister. The only space for her was a small sofa when she visited, and a chair mismatched from the rest of the set at the dining table when she joined her dad Selwyn and his wife with her new family for meals.

Gone was the comfort of the storm. In the city of Kingsland, confronted with what she would never find again back in Tarth, she felt even more alone. And lonely.

The kettle whistled and she hurried to switch off the stove. She put teabags in the mugs, poured water. The door opened just then, and Tormund strolled out, hair damp and his skin smelling faintly of her soap. Her gray sweater was snug across his shoulders and her pants clung to his thighs.

Illuminated by candlelight, she saw how kind his eyes were.

For the nth time, she felt a pang.

She retreated into the bathroom, lest he catch her. She put hung her clothes at the door, where his wet jeans also hung. The robe fell from her body and she stepped in the shower.

Meeting Tormund through Margaery and Renly, Brienne had liked him right away. He had soft, gentle blue eyes, and a friend smile. He was popular and liked by everyone, from professors, students, and even the university staff. People were drawn to him, and what they found was a good guy you could always rely on through good times and bad.

Shortly after they first met, he asked her out. Brienne had to decline, preferring that they remain friends. Shy and self-conscious, it was difficult for her to meet new people. And she really liked Tormund, but no more than as a friend.

She had friends, though few but close, yet there were times when she still felt so alone. Kingsland was an exciting city. Bars remained open until three a.m., there were convenience stores all over, and food delivery at all hours. It was nothing at all like small, sleepy Tarth, where everyone knew your name. Kingsland had been an adjustment for Brienne, who was already burdened with the knowledge she could never, ever, truly go home again.

His wife was nice enough, but Brienne saw the strain her presence put the other woman through. Not only was she a reminder of the life Selwyn had, but she was, in essence, an intruder. A stranger. So, she never went home unless she had to.

Virtually alone in the big city despite her friends, the loneliness sometimes got overwhelming. It got worse during storms like the one outside her window now. Back home in Tarth, she would be in her room, curled up in bed and reading. Happy. _Comforted._ Now there was only her teeny apartment, close enough to the train station for the entire building to rattle when it sped fast, right next to a Dothraki barbecue place so there was always the stink of smoke and spices, not to mention the noise of people. Surrounded by so much activity and life magnified even more how she no longer belonged anywhere.

So, she treasured what friendships she had. In Margaery was a sister, and Renly a brother. Tormund understood and never asked her out again. But she could tell, still, that his interest had not disappeared. It was in the way he would hold his jacket over her when it rained. Or when he pretended to have ordered the wrong croissant flavor, insisting he preferred them plain rather than chocolate, which was her favorite. It was in the care she felt when she got drunk one night after a particularly bad exam. He held her hair as she threw up in the toilet and slept on the floor of her apartment as she snored. Or when he just happened to be “passing” by Hollard’s Bar & Grill, where she had an evening shift as a waitress, to walk her home.

Brienne finished her shower, feeling homesick, empty and just. . .lonely. The rain always did this to her. As she listened to Tormund putter outside, she made a choice.

Her robe was back on. Loosely belted.

Her heart was pounding. She couldn’t understand and everything in her screamed it was a mistake.

Slowly, she opened the door. _She was shaking._ As more rain poured from the sky, she squared her shoulders and looked in the direction of the dining table. He was not there.

He was sitting up in her bed. Through the faint candlelight, she saw the clothes he had borrowed were folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

“If we do this,” she whispered, reaching for the knot of her belt. “We do only this.”

The robe slipped down her shoulders.

She watched him look at her body. He didn’t seem disappointed in how tiny her tits were, at her straight waist. There was no hint of mockery or meanness when he stared at the thick tangle of her bush.

He nodded when he looked back at her face. “The rain reminds me of you, Brienne. I can’t not want you.”

“I need a friend,” she said, approaching the bed. Her voice cracked as she looked at him. “That’s all.”

He nodded. “You have it.”

She bit her lip then climbed in beside him.

 

*******  
His lips were soft and his mouth warm and fragrant from the spiced tea. She settled on top of him, gasping through the mutual swoop of tongue in each other’s mouth. His hands caressed her sides, thumbs grazing the slight outer curve of her tits. She put her hand on his chest, listening to the rustle of hairs under her palm.

She could not remember the last time someone had touched her.

Her throat tight from the realization, she could only whimper and shake as his lips coasted down her throat, hands drifting to her tits to rub her nipples into tight, aching points. He urged her to lie on her back, their legs tangling briefly in the blankets. He pulled her ankle, hooking it over his hip. She looked up at him, his red hair kissed by fire, his eyes looking so blue and bright.

She let out a long, slow breath as he drew her nipple deep in his mouth. Her tongue flicked out at the wet sensation of his lips and tongue on her nipple, and when her hands got acquainted with the smooth skin of his back, the firm thrust of his ass. As she wrapped her other leg around him, her outer labia spread open, baring her clit for the velvet tickle of his cock.

A shudder swept through her. It was not too late to stop.

But Tormund’s mouth returned to her lip. She tried to speak; only a whimper escaped. He pressed crushing kisses on her open mouth, where frantic puffs of air came out, harsher by the second. She turned away from his kiss, thinking what to do, what to do. Stop, she should say. _Stop._

The word was in her throat.

If she did, the despair would return. She felt it, waiting to pounce and seize her the moment she asked Tormund to stop. She just wanted to escape the loneliness. Wanted to fool herself for a few minutes into belonging somewhere, to someone.

Tears welled in her eyes. If she told Tormund to leave, this dark, empty place would eat her up again. She’d had enough.

She swallowed the protest _screaming_ to be let out. Turning to her side, she drew his hand to her tits, telling him through touch how to hold her. Her buttocks thrust against his cock, finding it erect and moist at the tip. “Fuck me,” she whispered, raising her leg in invitation.

“I— _fuck_.” Tormund groaned, burying his face in her shoulder.

“What-what?”

“Condom.”

Then he leaped off the bed, tripping over his discarded clothes to get to the bathroom for his wallet. Brienne lay quietly in bed, waiting, panting. Then she heard him return to the room. Watching their shadows against the wall, he slipped behind her then grabbed her leg. Then she felt him.

_He was huge._

They fucked with one of her legs looped around his arm, his breath in her ear, her eyes on their moving shadows. She saw herself writhe, undulate. Saw him surge. Listened to his grunts. Lightning flashed and she saw them in the mirror: her eyes dark and haunted, his red hair hiding his face. His massive cock sliding in and out of her entrance made swollen and pink from the force of his thrusts. Then the room was dark again, with only candlelight. Shadows.

She squeezed her eyes as she stumbled to her release. Her cunt squeezed around the wide girth of Tormund’s cock, making him groan and gasp against her nape. He came on the next breath, plunging so hard into her that her eyes opened wide.

There _had_ been relief. There was escape. For a few minutes, she had forgotten how it felt to be alone.

As Tormund dozed beside her a while later, Brienne crossed over from feeling so wretchedly alone to painfully empty.

 

*****

**_Three months ago_ **

Brienne closed her eyes from the glare of the sun, turning her head away, gasping as Tormund’s lips tugged at her nipple. She surrendered to his kisses, losing herself to the sensation of his chapped lips on her skin. The rough texture felt good. Different from anything she had been feeling lately.

It promised escape.

His mouth closed over the entire mound of her small breast. He scooped her hips up off the bed. Rubbed his cock against her cunt. As the sun burned brighter by the minute and threw warmer light on them through the window, he nibbled his way down her stomach.

Now she opened her eyes, to see for herself if _this_ was the balm to her pain.

He spread her legs as he rose on his knees, holding his cock. She gulped at the size of him. Hard and thick, it seemed a log pointing at her. She watched him slip on the condom. He thrust in her a moment later.

“You’re too big,” she grunted, squirming.

“Sorry. Uh, would you like to turn around?”

“Fuck me from behind, you mean?” She gasped, feeling herself about to split in half.

“If it’s more comfortable for you?”

She nodded. She could spread her legs as wide as possible and it would still feel like shoving a tree trunk in her vagina. She turned on her hands and knees.

Tormund began to fuck her in earnest, gauging if the deeper penetration of the position was okay for her. Brienne stared at the bars of the headboard, feeling the back and forth prodding of his cock. Her cunt wasn’t too wet. Positioned as she was now, there was a significant change with regards to comfort. He still felt huge—because he was—but she didn’t feel like he was tearing into her.

With his hands on her hips, she was completely at his mercy. He controlled the tempo, the depth, asked her to play with her clit when he realized she needed to be wetter to take all of him. Sparks akin to fireworks burst from the contact of her fingers on the stiff pink pearl of flesh as he thrust.

Tormund cursed as he came. Brienne lowered her head on the pillow, shuddering from the relief spreading through her body.

She thought he was going to leave but he didn’t. Instead, he curled up against her back and hugged her.

There it was again. The emptiness. The tightness in her chest. It hurt to breathe.

“You can’t stay,” she told him, removing his arm from around her waist. “I have work.”

“Right,” he sighed. She rose from the bed, picking up her tank top from the floor and putting on it on. He watched her raise her arms, his stare hot at her swollen nipples. “I’ll walk you to Hollard’s,”

“No need,” she answered briskly before giving him a glance. “Besides, don’t you have a talk to attend for class or something? You’ll be late.”

He scoffed. “It’s not like someone will be taking attendance. Come on, Brienne. Get back here.” He smiled and held out a hand to her.

“I can’t. I told you, I have work. Besides, we don’t do that. I told you,” she said. Finding her panties at the foot of the bed, she stepped into them.

Without sparing Tormund another glance, she went to the bathroom to get cleaned up. It was _a_ reason to go since she’ll need to pee in a bit but there was no urgency. _The_ reason was Tormund’s attempts at lingering and cuddling were becoming frequent. More and more she’d had to revisit their arrangement when they started fucking a year ago. _We do only this._

She switched the faucet on but kept an ear to the door. The bed squeaked, which meant he was up. Muffled thumps shoes, metallic clangs of belt, the rustle of clothes pulled onto a body. Then the approach of heavy footsteps. She turned on the shower next.

He knocked. “I’m off now.”

“Alright.”

He left and she gave it a few more seconds before opening the door. Seeing he was gone, she finally allowed herself to pee before going out. She locked the door and looked around her apartment.

Though she was on academic scholarship in Westeros University, it didn’t cover board and lodging. She worked two jobs to make the rent, utilities and everyday expenses. Selwyn, a policeman back home, didn’t make much. Now that he had a new family, money was even tighter.

Since starting college two years ago, she had worked at Hollard’s Bar & Grill. She worked on the afternoon to evening shift on Thursdays and Fridays and then the closing on Saturdays and Sundays. Then from Mondays to Fridays, from elven in the evening onwards, she worked as phone sex operator.

The latter was a new job, begun only a month ago. She had quit her other job at Frey Stop & Go after another stick-up during her shift. She searched online for jobs with flexible hours with a more generous pay and phone sex work was one of them.

It didn’t take her long to get the hang of it, and most of her callers were not after sex but someone to listen to. One of her repeat customers was a guy who called himself the Hound. He had burn marks on his face following a childhood accident and was shy about approaching women, as well as leaving his apartment. Another was a man who went by the weird alias of Littlefinger. He was married with three children but was still hung up over an ex who was now married too and living far away in Winterfell. His wife was the sister of his ex.

Neither man was interested in the size of her tits. That suited Brienne just fine.

She had always worked two jobs because Kingsland was one of the most expensive cities. Her apartment was just slightly bigger than her closet back home yet the rent cost as much as renting a regular house back in Tarth. This year too was Selwyn’s fifty-fifth birthday. Despite the cool reception she would be getting from her stepmother and the children, she was still going. It was her _Dad_ and she never missed a birthday. She wanted to be able to afford airplane tickets and also get him a really nice birthday present. With her new job, she was able to start saving too. That eased some of the loneliness that had plagued her since moving to the city.

Brienne took a quick shower, dressed in one of her old but comfortable t-shirts and worn jeans. From the cupboard, she took a cup of no-cook noodles and got a can of soda from the fridge. This would be her dinner. As she ate, she continued reading where she left off in her philosophy textbook.

In the hours prior to her late-night work, she finished the philosophy chapter, complete with notes, began a paper for sociology, did some cleaning around the apartment and replaced the sex-soiled sheets of her bed with new ones. By the time there were only minutes before the first call came in, she was quite pooped. Brienne stretched out on her newly-changed bed, watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock before her phone rang. Sighing, she tucked the headset device at her ear.

“You’re in for a night to remember. This is Zaphyre,” she said, affecting a lazy drawl. She leaned against the pillows.

It was one of her return clients, a man named Gregor. Brienne got up from the bed to sit at the dining table. She remembered him. He claimed to have a very big cock and his nagging migraines tend to get in the way of sex. She had tried persuading him to see a doctor, but the man was too scared.

Harmless enough, at first. But the guy had some very disturbing fantasies. That was one of the downsides to the job. You got a lot of sick people calling you and there was hardly anything you could do.

“Zaphyre,” he spoke. Brienne grimaced as she heard the very audible rasp of a zipper. “I’ve been wanting to have you all day.”

“You know I’m yours, baby,” she said, making her voice extra breathy and small. “You’ve been thinking of me?”

“Hard not to. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Something I know you’ll like very much,” she said in a dramatic whisper. “Easy to tear. Very short. I’m in one of my nighties.”

“Tell me more.”

“It’s very delicate silk. With lace. The lace tickles my nipples. They’re so hard now. I wish you were here.”

“I’d love to bite them. Tell me about your nipples.”

“Um. They’re so hard they _hurt_ , Gregor.” She pretended to sound tearful. “Why don’t you tell me how you’d want to ease my pain?”

“I’ll throw you down on the bed. Rip that stupid thing off you. Spread your legs.” He said quickly, breathing hard. “I’ll get a rope and bind your wrists. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I won’t?”

“No. Because they will be so tight you won’t feel your hands. I’ll blindfold you. Gag you. I’ll spread your legs so wide, but my massive cock still won’t fit you. You’ll struggle—”

“Oh, Gregor, that’s so hot—”

“You don’t like it, I said. But you have no choice. I’ll bite your nipples so hard you’ll bleed---”

And from there, Brienne went away inside, listening to him describe the deplorable and cruel things he wanted to do to her. She stared at a small painting of the beach at Tarth—all she had of the mother she couldn’t remember. Done in soft blues, whites and yellows, it was a scene so blissful she could almost feel the caress of the wind on her face, the slight tinge of salt in the air.

The session with Gregor went on for about twenty minutes. He talked about turning her on her hands and knees. Raping her. Anally. Tearing at her hair. Listening to her screams of mercy. She cried out and moaned on cue, ignoring the souring mess gathering in her stomach that would have her vomiting in the toilet later.

“I can’t! I can’t! Gregor, you’re too big! Stop! Stop!” She pretended to wail, slamming her hands on the table, bouncing in the chair.

“Shut up!” He yelled. “You won’t be able to walk again if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“I’ll be good, I swear.”

“Shut up.”

Brienne mimicked zipping her lips.

She made a face as he grunted in her ear a second later. He sounded like a pig. _Like animal, like man._ As he panted, she pretended to sigh in satisfaction. “You were fantastic. Your big cock sure knows how to get me off.”

The call ended shortly after that. Brienne ripped off her headset and went to the bathroom, making a face at the half-digested noodles pouring out of her mouth. She rested her forehead on the toilet, panting, wishing for the day when she would no longer have to go away inside just to keep a roof over her head. Or be able to afford to fly coach.

With a weary moan, she staggered to her feet. Brushed her teeth and gargled mouthwash. Threw cold water to her pale face. She patted it dry then returned to her phone, put the headset back on.

If the Seven were merciful, her next call would be easier. Wishful thinking, she thought, curling up in her bed and hugging a pillow. Calls from Gregor drained her.

Her phone rang. She clicked the answer button. “You’ve found Zaphyre, honey. I’m here to make your wildest and dirtiest fantasies come true.”

“I’ve never done this,” came a man’s voice. “I never thought I’d do this.”

Something she had never heard, she thought wryly, cocking a pale eyebrow. She settled more comfortably on the bed. “Honey. Has no one told you before there’s a first time everything?”

“Not like this, sweetheart,” was the annoyed reply.

Brienne rolled her eyes. Thank the Seven the money was worth itm but she would have to keep the guy on the line for a while.

“Well, if this is your first time, no judgment. That’s what I’m here for. Make your first time memorable.”

“This isn’t happening.”

Hoping her impatience wasn’t obvious, she asked, “What do _you_ want to happen?”

Silence. Brienne punched the air. Did she lose him? “Honey?” She asked, sitting up in mild panic. If she only had him on for less than a minute, he will not get billed. “Are you still there?”

“N-No one has asked me that,” he said after a moment. She listened to him sigh. The sound seemed dragged from his soul. Whatever this guy was going through, she realized, was his to bear alone.

“What else has no one asked you about?” She asked more gently.

“If I still want to live.”

She stilled. _A man contemplating suicide?_

Feeling sorry for him, she clucked her tongue. “Oh. Honey. Why do you think people should ask you that?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve. . .I’ve ceased to be someone asked. I’m told. I’m given prescription. Told, told, told. I want the right to think instead of having decisions made for me.”

“Did someone tell you to call me, honey?”

“No.”

“You mean you decided on your own?”

“I’m still capable,” he told her defensively.

“Not disputing that, honey. Oh no, no, no.” She spoke more slowly, trying to figure out how to handle her volatile and highly emotional client. “Now, I’m about to ask a question that I’m sure someone has asked you. You don’t have to answer. Just tell me to shut up about it, okay? Honey? What’s your name?”

“Jaime. My name’s Jaime.”

 

******

Once the job was over, Brienne didn’t think about it anymore. But something about the voice of Jaime haunted her afterwards. He sounded so. . .lost. A man who had lost more than most people, maybe, and also could not explain where exactly he was in life. Untethered, that’s what he seemed to her. Someone who was suddenly torn away from everything he knew.

Brienne hugged her pillow, staring at the night sky through the window. It was a feeling she knew well. Too well.  


******

She did not expect him to call again. Only a small portion of first-timers became clients. This Jaime guy sounded skittish and resistant. Lonely too. She understood loneliness but it wasn’t a unique feeling. People who tend to call her service saw it as a last resort to either exercise desires they could never speak to their partners about or they simply didn’t have anyone they could talk to who would understand, really understand.

So, the next night, after Brienne wrapped up a call with a man who got a hard-on while tattooing his female clients, she was surprised to hear Jaime’s voice again.

“Hi,” she said, and immediately blushed. She had spoken to him in her normal voice instead of the breathy, draw-out drawl used for the job. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

“I didn’t know whether to call,” he admitted.

“I’m glad you did. What’s up with you?”

“Not much since. . .last night.” He chuckled. “Sorry you have a boring caller.”

Her smile was genuine. “It’s actually a treat.”

 

*****  
She and Jaime talked about everything and anything during his calls, except for sex. Brienne was glad. Performing and faking orgasm to her clients could get tiring. At least Gregor hardly called her now. She hoped he had been transferred to another operator. It would be a gift to never have that sick man panting in her ear again. If she knew who he was, she’d warn other women about him too.

Jaime tend to call very late in the night, from twelve midnight onwards. Brienne would nap after her shift at Hollard’s, study, have dinner then a shower. Two or three clients called her before Jaime got on.

Out of all the clients she’d had who just needed someone to listen, Jaime was the one who had the greatest need for it. His sudden hesitations or silences between a flurry of conversation told her he was getting hold of himself, that he was wondering if he had said too much. That she was judging him, probably. It wasn’t difficult to pull him back. As he bordered between silence and moving forward in their conversation, she would prattle on about nonsense—her nails, her laundry, the busted elevator in her building and so on. They didn’t get very personal.

Until one night.

“Do you still have parents?” He suddenly asked her. “I mean, are they still alive?”

Brienne, who was making herself a tuna sandwich, nodded. “My dad.”

“Just your dad?”

“Yeah. I lost my Mom when I was very young.” She sprinkled some pepper on the spread. “I was four.”

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

For some people that was a knee-jerk response. From Jaime, it felt really sincere. But she didn’t like talking about herself on calls like this. She had an image. Things should never get too real. Just real enough for a client to pay and seek her services again.

“How’s yours? Still alive?”

“My mom died when I was sixteen. Cancer.” Suddenly, he stopped. “My dad died five years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Were you close?”

His chuckle was bitter. “He didn’t have much interest in us after mom died. He made sure we were fed, had a roof over our heads. That’s it. He couldn’t be bothered attending our graduations. Or anything involving us.”

“You mean he just. . .signed off or something?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s horrible.” She could never imagine a parent just. . .just giving up like that. Selwyn was a broken man when her mother died—she knew because that was the father she grew up with, not the jolly, smiling man that old photos showed, and his friends claimed he was. Selwyn was quiet, soft-spoken. Despite his loneliness, Brienne had felt his love and support.

He always had hot chocolate waiting for her when she got home from school. It was simply a hot drink for most people but to her it meant the end of another day of bullying and abuse. She was six feet tall by the time she was thirteen and went on to grow a few more inches. This made her a prime target for the meanest and cruelest of jokes. Her pale, unmanageable hair that was more the color of straw than blond, blotchy skin covered in freckles, big nose crooked from when she fell down the stairs at ten, thick-lipped wide mouth and big, crooked teeth made it seem she was created to be abused and hurt.

She could not wait to leave Tarth. But she did not want to leave her dad. The choice to leave became so much easier when he told her about his plans to get married. Apparently, he had been seeing someone for a few years and never told her. It felt like a betrayal.

As difficult as things were between her and Selwyn, she at least had the memory of his support. She just wished things did not have to change so much. That she could still count on his love.

“I can image how difficult that was. Did he. . .did he at least say why he could not go to games or your graduation. . .?”

“No. I know how it is to mourn, Zaphyre. We all did. We will always mourn for our mom. But my dad shouldn’t have left us like that. We wanted to know that things could still be alright. I saw it in his eyes.”

“What?”

“How much he wished to die. I never saw the light in his eyes again. And when I look in the mirror, I see it too. In my eyes.”  


******

Brienne realized that clients with disturbing fantasies were a lot easier to deal with than a client with a cross that was his own to bear. Too late did she realize it had become her burden too.

When the heaviness in her heart became too much, she knew what to do. A call to Tormund and he was there, his mouth crashing on hers, his hands pulling at her t-shirt and palming her tits. She pulled him into her apartment with a hand around his belt, looking in the direction of her bed while his lips rubbed up and down her cheek, her neck.

His hands caressed up and down her arms before cupping her face, his lips seeking her mouth again. She kissed him back, but she didn’t feel like she was part of the kiss, didn’t feel like she was in the moment or even in this room. She knew it was her body he touched, her tongue he sucked, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of being cut off. That she was watching all of this unfold as if from a dream.

Together, they loosened her belt, pulled her jeans down. She crawled on the bed, once again grasping the steel bars of the headboard. She watched Tormund pull out the square packet of condom from his wallet, tearing it open. He unzipped his jeans, revealing his cock, a sword flesh standing thick and strong from a cluster of curls as red and bright as the hair on his head. Brienne looked away, spreading her legs as far as the jeans bunched around her ankles allowed. He climbed in behind her then plunged inside.

Tight whimpers escaped her throat as he fucked her. He was rough and fast, without rhythm. Just flesh splitting her flesh open, pounding inside her. Mindless. Desperate. She bowed her head as he slipped a hand under her shirt, caressing her back. Then he cupped one of her tits, squeezing it painfully as he pushed harder, closer into her, his balls brushing her spread labia.

She had called him because of this strange hurt that seized her heart. Now she couldn’t wait for it to be over. Couldn’t wait for him to be gone.

“Hurry,” she implored him, her knuckles turning white from gripping the bars.

“Come on, Brienne—”

She pushed her hips back. _“Hurry.”_

She touched herself, forcing herself to come around him. She shuddered and caught her breath, biting her lip as Tormund continued to thrust and groan. Just as she was about to implore him again, he cried out, stiffening inside. Then she felt him pour into her, the latex around his cock suddenly warmer.

He stayed inside her for a few more moments, possibly waiting. She didn’t know. She never bothered enough to know. All she knew was relief once he began pulling out of her, though he did it way too slowly for her liking. She turned to her side, biting her lip.

He joined her in bed, sliding a hand under her shirt to play with her tits. As he pinched her nipples, she stiffened. “Tormund. No. Don’t.”

She pulled his hand out and hugged a pillow. His hand lowered to her naked hip.

“I forget,” he said. “You don’t like cuddles.”

She didn’t say anything.

“When will you tell me what you like? We’ve been fucking for a year.”

“Fucking,” she whispered. “That’s what I like.”

“Do you even like me?” He suddenly asked.

“Tormund—”

“I know. I know. I never forget. You make sure I don’t.” He turned on his back, pushing a hand under his head. “We just fuck. Nothing more.”

“I thought you were okay with it,” she said quietly. “We can stop this anytime. No hard feelings.”

“That’s just it!”

Suddenly, he leaped out of bed and yanked his clothes back on. Brienne sat up, watching him shove his feet into his boots. His face was flushed with anger.

“Tormund—”

He glared at her. “Do you even like me?”

“You’re my friend.”

“Unbelievable!” he roared, making her jump. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He slammed it close, the force enough for her mother’s painting to drop on the floor. Brienne cried out and ran to get it. Her heart was pounding from fear as she picked it, examining it for scratches and other possible damage.

“Shit.” She had made a mess of things. If she didn’t fix it, she would lose one of the few friends she had.

Brienne put on clothes and got her shoes. As she raced to the door, her phone rang.

_Midnight._

It was now or never.

She stood by the door, hand around the doorknob, watching her phone vibrate and light up as it rang. As she moved to answer it, she heard the front door in the lobby close with a decisive slam. She stared at the hallway leading to the stairs.

She closed the door and went to answer the phone.

 “There you are,” Jaime told her. She thought he sounded relieved.

She wished it made sense—how this stranger on the phone had somehow reached into the very heart of her that she believed to _know_ his exact brand of desolation, while another man who was very much in her life, had known her so intimately, could never rouse anything close to what she had with Jaime.

It came as sudden as death. Yet she felt so very much alive.

And he was only a voice on the phone.

 

******

After almost four weeks of nonsensical but fun conversations, he told her he was recently disabled.

“Not that recently now, come to think of it.” She cringed from the forced cheer of his voice. “It’s been, what, a year?”

“What happened to you?” Brienne asked.

He didn’t answer. She could hear him breathing but nothing more.

“Jaime?”

“I lost my hand.”

She stared at the phone. “You lost your hand?”

He sighed, letting out a shaky breath. Was he crying? “Yeah. I did.”

“Like. . .it’s really not there anymore?” It was a stupid question. She blushed.

“That’s what it means when something is lost, Zaphyre.”

“How—what—how have you—how are you coping with it? I don’t know. Can I ask that?”

“At least you didn’t ask if I was okay. I’ve yet to hear of anyone being okay literally losing a part of themselves.”

Brienne stared at her own hand, wondering. Which did he lose? How? But she didn’t know if she could ask that.

“I know what you’re doing,” Jaime’s voice cut into her thoughts.

“Really.”

“You’re staring at your hand.”

She stiffened. “Am not. I’m putting lotion on.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Yeah,” she said breathily. “Up and down my legs. I like having something wet and sticky on me.”

She waited for him to ask for more. Tell him more. When nothing came, she apologized.

“I’m sorry. I thought. . .”

‘’You were just doing your job.”

Brienne made sure to never forget that in future calls with him.

 

*****

“What do you dream about, Jaime?”

Their conversations ran from forty minutes to one hour. They did not always talk. There were still long pauses, especially from his end. Brienne thought he was gauging what to say next, how to say it. Maybe even contemplating hanging up and they would never talk again.

Over time, she had a dossier of information on him. She knew his name, of course, but that could easily be false. She knew he was disabled, having lost a hand. He had yet to tell her the circumstances, or maybe never.

From Jaime, she learned that adding mayonnaise to eggs made them extra fluffy. He seemed to know his way around contracts and the law, since he gave her advice about the lease in her studio she couldn’t get out of yet, and she wanted to know move someplace that had a working elevator. He had a nice voice—a sexy, lazy drawl that she was sure had made many women purr.

He was alone, just like she was. With a sister, and possibly more siblings.

She also knew he was hurt in ways that few people could understand. He had literally lost a part of himself. His life would never be the same.

She knew how that felt, to an extent. Knew how it was to be lost. And to lose something and someone.

“What do you dream about?” She asked him during one of their talks as she filed her nails.

She heard the rustle of sheets, imagined him settling in bed. Did he sleep on a king-sized bed or a queen? On thousand-thread count sheets? Maybe silken sheets.

“A woman,” he told her. “Beautiful. Sexy. A woman I can lift against the wall, over my shoulders. Fuck her with my tongue.”

Brienne stopped with her task. He said it so matter-of-factly, as if they were just talking about the weather. No words tripped over, no hesitations. The blunt facts.

“Must it be against a wall? Do you have to lift her like that? Why not taste her like that in bed?”

“The power is the turn-on for me. She has no choice but to take me.”

“Is that what you like? Fucking women like that?”

She tried to keep her tone casual, but her head was spinning. To be. . . _taken_ like that. To be wanted  like that. The desire for sex and the pleasure it promised were things she knew about. But to be wanted with such passion. Hunger. She did find some pleasure with Tormund. He wanted her and she liked what he offered. But she had yet to know how it felt to be so overtaken by desire that she ceased to know anything else. Just heated kisses. Only the man in her arms.  

His whisper in her ear.

 “What’s not to like? Heaven on earth is between a woman’s legs.”

“Is that for all women, Jaime?” She needed to know. With her size and bulk, she was out of the running for anyone he would want to lift over his shoulders and obliterate with his tongue.

“I believe so, yes.”

“Tell me how you’d take me. If I’m somebody you know well enough to want to taste,” she didn’t mask the urgency in her voice. “How will you get me to spread my legs for you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Don’t you want me to know?” She hoped she didn’t sound pathetic. She got more comfortable in bed, fixed her pillows. “Tell me how it’s like with you, Jaime.”

“What was that?”

“I just crossed my legs.” She blushed at the blatant lie. “I’m getting wet.”

 “Tell me,” he rasped. “What’s your hair color?”

“Blond. I have blue eyes too. Would you like to know how big my tits are?”

“Not now. Tell me about your cunt. How wet are you?”

“Soaking.” She snapped the waistband of her pajamas. “I had to get rid of my panties because I’m so wet. Will you fuck me, Jaime?”

“Tell me what perfume you use,” he whispered, sighing.

“What?”

“I need to know how you smell.”

This was a first. Totally unprepared, she blurted out the truth. “I don’t use perfume.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like perfume. They’re all too floral. I just. . .I just take baths. And when I have time, I have bubble baths.”

“Do you have a preferred brand? Smell? I need to know how you smell between your legs, Zaphyre.”

“Vanilla Pop,” she said, clearing her throat. No one had ever asked her how she smelled down there before. It was disconcerting. “Or Caramel Surprise. And when I put lotion I use—"she glanced at her nightstand, flushing“—Bolton’s Formula.”

Jaime inhaled deeply. “Fuck. I can smell you. It’s crazy but I know how you smell. How wet are you?”

“Glistening.” She pretended to sob. “It hurts. What are you going to do to me?”

“If I still have both hands, I’ll throw you against the wall. Lift you over my shoulders. I’m strong enough. I can do that to any woman, no matter the size. If I want her and I meant to have her, I’ll have her that way.”

“Take me _that_ way.”

“I have you against the wall. Your legs are spread. I can smell you. Fuck. That’s the best scent of a woman. Your pussy.” Jaime growled. “I spread you wide. Bury my tongue in your pussy again and again.”

Brienne, pretending to thrash against the pillows, moaned, “Jaime, it’s too much.”

His laugh was dark and bitter. “The more you tell me to stop, the more I will not.”

“Jaime, please—be gentle—"

“You’re dripping. Your thighs are fucking wet. You want me there, my tongue. Inside you. Fucking you.”

 _“Yes!”_  Brienne punched her pillow. “Yes! Jaime, yes!” __  
  


*******

“Tormund gave it to you good last night, didn’t he?” Margaery asked her the next day when they met by the stairs.

Brienne was confused by her smirk. “Tormund? What are you talking about?”

Because Margaery’s boyfriend was good friends with Tormund, she never told her best friend that they have been fucking for a year. She made sure to only have him come over when Margaery was at work, or very late at night. Margaery would sometimes visit unannounced too so Brienne never allowed Tormund to spend the night.

Fucking was all she was after with Tormund. It sucked that she couldn’t like him more, and it made her a horrible person taking advantage of him. But she thought he understood. That he believed her when she said fucking was all they would do.

Though they never agreed to keep the affair a secret, it was clear Tormund had loose lips. Brienne frowned as they climbed down the stairs towards the lobby.

“Come on, Brienne,” Margaery teased her, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I can’t believe you never told me. He’s always liked you. Renly told me he’s very well hung.”

“There’s nothing to tell. It wasn’t Tormund I had over last night.”

Margaery shrugged but grinned again. “Ah. Okay, it wasn’t Tormund, but someone was in you—I mean, at your place last night, right?”

Brienne flushed and got the door. “Leave it, okay?”

“Oh, come on! I tell you how Renly and I fuck! You know he’s seven inches when hard but the girth makes up for it—”

“Margaery!” Brienne shrieked, covering her ears. “I don’t want to know!”

Margaery put her hands on her waist. “I’m going to tell you about this big strap-on we got if you don’t spill one detail about your midnight guest.”

“There was no one---”

“Oh, please! You were so loud you even woke up old toad Maggy next door and the woman is deaf!”

 _The Seven fuck her in the ass._ Flinging a hand to her mouth in embarrassment, Brienne rushed down the street. Margaery called out to her before breaking into a run. Catching up with her, Margaery saw her face was a vivid, fiery red and she was panic-pressing the button to change the traffic light.

“Calm down, Brienne. I was just teasing!”

“It’s nothing, okay. It was just. . . nothing.” Brienne had never been so embarrassed in her life. Margaery didn’t know about her other job and she wasn’t about to tell her. Last night had been a performance. Fake. But for her to have gotten so loud that other people thought she was fucking someone. . .she shuddered and almost shouted in relief when the light changed to allow pedestrians to cross.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me anything,” Margaery assured her, seeing the distress on her face. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

Brienne glanced at her as they crossed the street. Margaery squeezed her hand. “I mean it, Brienne. I’ll be quiet, okay?”

 

******  
Brienne resolved to keep quiet during the next phone calls from Jaime. She even closed the windows and bought blackout curtains because they helped in muffling the noise too. It proved futile.

He gave very vivid, explicit details about the things he wanted to do to her. She was curious at best, not exactly turned on. But he told her enough that she may see herself held in his shadow, her legs spread far apart and his tongue worshipping her cunt, her nipples, his mouth devouring her lips.  She had props ready—a garter to snap, an empty milk carton to squeeze and press to simulate the sound of a wet and aroused cunt.

Usually, when the calls veered to sex, she went away inside. Listened just enough to know when to moan and scream, to ‘perform’ as required of her by the client. There was nothing like that with Jaime. She listened to every word with a mix of fascination and curiosity.

“I’ve been thinking of you,” she told him one night.

“You have?”

“Hmm.” She purred. “You’ve tongued me against the wall, on the kitchen table, on the floor of a subway train with people watching us. We’ve done all these things. You know the color of my bush. But you’ve never told me anything about your cock.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you want me to know?” She giggled. “Honey. Jaime. Come on. You know I’m allergic to strawberries. I know you’re missing a hand. Are you hung like a monster?”

He laughed. “Perhaps not monster-size, sweetheart. But you have to be a very strong woman to take me.”

She could take a break from monster cocks. Tormund had been texting her all day about getting together. Given how angry he had been and what a jerk she was fucking him and reducing him to a cock-on-call, she thought it best to ignore.

“Why is that?” She asked.

“I can fuck for hours. It’s rare that I fuck somebody just once in a night. I enjoy fucking. Getting scratched. Nothing compares to the gift of being inside a woman who wants you.”

Did he really just say that?

It sounded like he meant but she couldn’t stop the sputtering sound of her laughter. Never had she heard anything so fucking corny. Yet she laughed, unleashing a cackle that would scare off even witches and possibly monsters of old.

“What’s so funny?” He demanded.

“Don’t you realize how crude you can get one minute and then poetic in the next?” She asked, gasping as she tried to contain her laughter.

“It’s just how I am.”

She stared at the phone. She did not know how he looked like, but she knew he didn’t just sound sincere. He really was.

“I think it’s great. No room for anything resembling poetry in my job. I’m just saying,” she said, clearing her throat. “You make it easier.”

“What exactly?”

She blushed. “Things. Thank you, Jaime.”

 

*****  
**_The present day_**

After another late night of pretending to have sex with Jaime on the phone, Brienne got up, yawning hugely.

She didn’t think pretending to fuck could be so much fun.

Her thirty-minute talks with Jaime had now extended to at least an hour and a half because of sex. And even after he had groaned in her ear or she had pretended to scream her pleasure, there was still plenty they could talk about—not to mention energy to carry on an intelligent conversation.

He had no trouble describing how he would toss her on a desk and fuck her brains out, just as he had no trouble articulating his thoughts regarding medieval Westeros philosophy, or contemporary literature, even the trade policies with Essos. More and more, Brienne was beginning to admire him.

He was downtrodden because of his disability but he promised he was trying to accept that and move on with his life. She did worry that she seemed to be the only person he could be open about with how difficult physical therapy was, as well as talking about his nightmares about still having two hands. At first he seemed a person in need of gentleness. Kid gloves. But his blunt nature told that only a similar delivery would he listen.

“You’ve lost a hand, Jaime. You’ve had a taste of world where everyone else had lost so much. It’s horrible what has happened to you, but you can’t let that loss enslave you for the rest of your life.”

He had been shocked. Yelled at her for not knowing what she was talking about. She yelled back, telling him to keep attending therapy, counseling. That he should accept things would never be the same. He could either keep sorry for himself until death or feel sorry now but do something, no matter how little, for the rest of his days. He hung up on her and she was sure he would never call again.

He called back ten minutes later.

Brienne worried if she had crossed the line but her harshness was just exactly what Jaime needed. Nothing had changed between them. There were still nights when they just talked about the news, or laughed over the same video of an animal doing something fantastically stupid. But there were also nights when she screamed into the phone, begging him breathlessly to fuck her hard.

It was all a performance, but it was the most fun she’d had since moving to the city. She felt a lot better than having Tormund’s cock rutting inside her. Talking to Jaime gave her some purpose, perverse as it may be. It was all in her head, but she felt a connection to him.

They were two souls adrift, who had lost so much.

She stretched, sighing as her shoulders popped, loosening the stiff muscles there. She got dressed for school, selecting a t-shirt that wasn’t too dirty from her laundry pile, swiping on deodorant then putting on the rest of her clothes. She put her laptop and other books in her backpack and went to meet Margaery at the stairs.

They were having breakfast with Renly and Tormund again. Recently, their group had gotten in the habit of meeting for breakfast at a diner close to the apartment. If Brienne had her way, she would just have cold cereal back home rather than spend money. But she had money now—she already had tickets to fly home to Tarth next month. She was also able to start a savings account. She even splurged on a new backpack because her old one’s strap had torn again. She could surely spend a bit on a delicious, healthy meal.

After Margaery teased her for being loud, Brienne resolved never to see Tormund again. There was no excuse for how she had turned to him and continued using him, willing as he was. He was a friend and that was all she wanted from him, nothing more. But for him to see that, they were going to have to talk.

She dreaded that. Really, really dreaded it.

Renly and Tormund were already at the booth when they arrived. Renly kissed Margaery on the cheek while Brienne and Tormund exchanged a look before he moved aside to let her sit. He sat down next to her, their thighs brushing. She quickly moved away.

“We ordered for you guys, if that’s okay,” Renly said. “Waffles and bacon for Brienne, muesli with skim milk for you.”

“That’s really nice, thanks,” Brienne murmured as Margaery beamed at him in appreciation.

Soon, Margaery and Renly were in their own world. Loving looks were exchanged, little kisses shared over cups of coffee or spoonfuls of food. Brienne squirmed in her seat, thoughtfully chewing on a strip of bacon. Tormund watched her.

“Are you ignoring me?” He asked.

She sighed, hating to lie. “Yes.”

“Brienne.”

“Let’s not have this talk now, okay?” She asked, glancing at Margaery and Renly.

“When?” Tormund demanded. “Why is it that things always have to be as you want it? How about me, Brienne?”

“Please,” she pleaded. “Not here.”

“Are you embarrassed about me?”

She shook her head. “We’ll talk, Tormund. It’s just that—”

He sighed this time. “Don’t tell me. I don’t need reminding.”

Margaery must have sensed the tension between them because she drew Brienne’s attention. Renly glanced at Tormund too. Brienne let herself be distracted by Margaery’s lively narration of the latest episode of Westeros Anatomy. Margaery made faces and voices, perfectly mimicking the gestures of characters in an overly dramatic way. It didn’t take long for Brienne to start laughing.

Renly glanced at his watch. “Shit, we should get going.”

“I’ll take care of this,” Tormund said as they got up. Brienne put on her jacket, thrusting her chest forward. When she glanced at Tormund, he was looking at her tits, at her nipples straining against the cotton. She blushed and turned away from his smile.

“Promise me we’ll talk later, Brienne.” He told her, softly and too quickly.

Brienne quietly got her backpack, turning away from him then looking up as she strapped it on. As she did, she saw a man a few tables ahead looking at her.

His hair was long and golden, but greasy-looking. His beard could use a trim. Under all that hair, she saw, was a good-looking man. She looked away. If he was looking at her, he was thinking she was the ugliest woman he had ever seen. Her best hope was he was just staring off into space and their eyes just happened to collide.

Who could want her? She thought, seeing her face in the glass window. _Why?_

She rejoined her group, looking away as Tormund smiled at her again. Perhaps she should not be so picky. Maybe she should give things one last try.  


******  
  
They were supposed to talk. That had been the plan.

From the darkness of her apartment, Brienne looked at the full moon and the stars. This was the first time she had seen the city sky to be this clear. Smog tend to obscure them, as well as high-rises.

As she looked, Tormund embraced her from behind, his hand lowering to her cunt. She closed her eyes as he entered her for the third time since the afternoon. She panted and gasped loudly, harshly, throwing her head back as he cupped her tits.

Why was it no matter how deeply he got inside her, she could never feel that she was part of the moment? She knew she was with him. But she could never feel anything that should tell her she was with him. _No connection._  
  
She couldn’t voice it. Couldn’t understand. All she knew was she felt so cut off. That she felt the farthest from him when he was wedged so deeply inside her. She felt guilt and affection for him when sat next to each other having coffee. But once his lips were on hers, once he was inside her—there was nothing. Only shame. Impatience. Emptiness.

Shame because she used him. Shame that she kept using him though she knew how he felt for her. That he wanted to more than just fuck her.

This morning, she had been sure about ending their affair. She missed having him as a friend. The guy who held her hair back as she got sick over the toilet. The guy who walked her home after a late shift at Hollard’s. But he was a good guy. And maybe. . .maybe if she gave him a chance, she would start feeling that connection. That rather than feeling empty and even more alone when fucking him, she would finally feel like she belonged. That she had something like home.

He grunted behind her as he came.

She swallowed a sob.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he told her, still curled up against her back and playing with her nipples this time. “Brienne, I knew you’d see sense. We’re great together. I think you’re fantastic.”

She shook her head. “Please stop.”

He chuckled against her neck. “You’re so modest. Say, my sister Ygritte is visiting,” he kissed then pretended to bite her. “I thought we could have breakfast. I’d love for her to meet you.”

As his hand lowered to her cunt, Brienne stiffened and closed her legs. Quickly, she got up and flicked on the light. Tormund winced, shielding his eyes from the glare. Naked, Brienne proceeded to turn on the rest of the lights in the apartment.

“What the fuck, Brienne?” He demanded.

“No. No meeting your sister. No more of this—no more fucking.” Brienne declared, ignoring her nudity and all the discomfort it brought to her. She was shaking, not from fury but from how she almost missed the escape hatch for this. . .whatever they had.

“What are you talking about? We’ve been fucking all afternoon and nearly the whole night. You told me you want to give us a chance!”

“I was wrong!” Brienne cried out, her anguish startling him. “I was wrong. I never. . . _I don’t want to be with you, Tormund._ I only want my friend back. No more—no more fucking.”

Shocked, Tormund could only watch as she yanked on her t-shirt. “I didn’t see this as just fucking.”

“This was all just fucking! I thought you understood. I told—I said—so many times---”

“Yeah. You did. You always reminded me about how far we can go. About all I was gonna have with you. But you always called me! And I was the fucking idiot who always came to you!”

Brienne jumped as he suddenly sent her books piled on the nightstand to the floor. He yelled, threw her pillows against the wall. She crossed her arms, armored only in her thin t-shirt and nothing else as Tormund wrenched his clothes back on. He muttered and cursed under his breath, sent her a hated look in between zipping up his fly and yanking on his socks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have. . .we should never have fucked.”

“You needed a friend.”

“You wanted more. I knew and I still---” It was too horrible to say.

“Yeah,” Tormund agreed, glaring at her. “You did. And I hoped. I kept hoping.”

She shook her head, looking at him sadly. “You should stop.”

“You should lend me that book when you’re done, Brienne. I think I need to check out the chapter on how to be a heartless bastard. You certainly have the stone-cold cunt part down.”

“That’s unfair.”

“No, you know what? You deserve to be called every bad name in the book. You knew how I felt. Yet you still kept fucking me.”

“You said you understood our terms!”

“I lied because it was the only way I could have you!” Tormund yelled.

Brienne looked at him, feeling more wretched the longer he stayed, the longer he looked at her with hate. “Please leave.”

“Brienne, please—” Tormund moved to go to her. She held up her hand while putting the dining table between them.

“No. No. It’s final, Tormund. I’m more sorry than you will know. You don’t believe me now but I never took pleasure in hurting you. I thought I was clear with what I wanted.”

“Why?” He demanded, his pain breaking her heart. “Why can’t you want me? Is there someone else?”

Before Brienne could speak, the phone began to ring. She glanced at the clock.

It was midnight.

 


	3. Night Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t stop kissing you, Jaime.”  
> “When do I get to kiss you?” He asked, his voice strained.  
> “Anytime you want,” she vowed. “I don’t want you hurt.”

 

Brienne stared at her phone. Heart in her throat. Mouth as dry and gritty as the desert. Every ringing was a scream at her soul to answer it now, now. An unsteady hand reached for it when Tormund’s snarl had her yanking it back to her side. She looked at him with both panic and confusion.

“Who the hell’s calling you at this time? Is that _him_?”

Anger flashed from his eyes. And hate. He was shaking, as if battling some monster from ripping his skin open to reveal itself.

For the first time Brienne realized her vulnerable position. Sweat made her shirt translucent and adhere to skin. It was the only thing she had on. As Tormund’s stare grew more contemptuous with each pass on hard nipples and bare, fuck-swollen cunt, she felt even more stripped.

Yet there was nothing to fear from him. He was angry. Rightly so. She was furious too knew that if she allowed herself to be swept up in it there was no hope of repairing the damage in their relationship.

Holding his stare, she took the phone. Its vibration did was a chorus to her racing heart.

His glare went to the phone and she walked around the table, keeping it between them. He still shook with  fury, his eyes darting up and down her hair, her face, her body. His disdain sharpened as she clutched the phone to her breasts, causing shirt to rise. The shaft of air from the radiator blew gently at the edge of her top, a movement so slight but enough to reveal the visible splotches of cum on her thighs. She reddened in embarrassment.

“You _are_ fucking someone else.”

“Go,” she whispered.

“How the fuck could you do this to us?” He yelled, kicking at a chair. She just stared back at him calmly. The warmth and tremor of the device against her heart gave her courage.

 “I never promised more, Tormund. I made it clear from the start all we could have. I made a mistake tonight. I’m sorry.” She glanced at the phone then back at him. “You have to leave.”

“Are you sure?” He said mockingly. “You won’t be calling me again in tears saying you need me to fuck you?”

She flinched. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her as he grabbed his jacket. Brienne clutched he phone, dying for every second it went unanswered. As soon as he had it on, she saw him about to make a parting remark.

“Leave.” Her voice was louder now but still quiet. “Tormund, now. Go.”

He gave her another look, this time mixed with curiosity before turning on his heel to slam the door shut. She cried out, springing to her mother’s painting. It remained on the wall. Overwhelmed with relief, her knees crashed to the floor, the phone falling from her grasp.

“No!” She shouted, struggling to catch it, watching in horror and helplessness as it danced and got tossed in the air by her frantic grabbing before locking it fully in both hands. Panting, she hit the answer button.

“You’ve found Zaphyre.”

“Hey,” Jaime sounded relieved. “You’re there.”

“Jaime,” she exclaimed, sinking to the floor as the rest of her body gave out. Drained of tension, a soft laugh escaped from her lips, husky, throaty. That was all it took. Her body threw itself on the release of laughter, drawing howls and high-pitched crackles from her. What loss incurred from her choices mattered little. Relief took over, sweet and very welcome.

She brushed the tears from her eyes as her laughed eased, picking up the phone. She could hear Jaime calling her name, asking if she was alright, if she needed help. She turned on her side, got more comfortable on the floor.

“I’m sorry. Yes. I’m alright,” she said, catching her breath.

“Are you sure? Should I. . .should I call back later?”

“No. No, stay.” She meant it. “I’m glad you waited until I could answer. That won’t happen again.”

“Zaphyre, come on. I mean, I enjoy our talks, but I know you have a life outside of. . .work. That comes first.”

“That’s sweet of you to say but I’m on the clock. You come first.”

“Would you like to talk about it? I thought you were dying.”

“I was laughing.”

“Oh.”

Brienne smiled at the phone. She didn’t know how things would be hours from now. Or in a few days. Next week. But the hurt in her heart was gone. She got up, turned the lock on the door and slid the chain in its slot for better security.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she told Jaime, her voice low. She returned to bed, unbothered by the lingering scent of fucking and sweat. Tormund’s shampoo. She hugged a pillow to her chest.

“Are you getting dressed? Or getting naked?” Something plaintive and hopeful about Jaime’s voice made her warm.

“I’m in bed,” she whispered, throwing one leg over the pillow. The brush of her hairy cunt against the linen caused her cheeks to turn pink. “Naked.”

_“Fuck.”_

She giggled. “Where are you?”

“Not naked.” He sounded pained. “Not with you.”

It was all bullshit. He wouldn’t want to be with anyone like her. Too tall, too freckly. Too much baggage. The embodiment of plain. She was a conquest. A freak to fuck—facts she had made peace with a long time ago. She was glad for having learned the truth about herself early on, else she would be a mush and believe there was more between her and the midnight client.

“Tell me what you look like,” she said, suddenly curious. He could lie. _Everyone lies._ But Jaime. . .she felt he would tell her the truth. “Give me a face, anything. I-I need to know.”

“You know I’m a cripple, Zaphyre.” He sounded tired.

“So?”

He sighed.

“You know I have blond hair. That I have blue eyes.” Reddening, she mumbled, “You know how I smell.”

“Vanilla.” He whispered. “Caramel.”

“Jaime, give me something. _Please._ ”

“Blond. I—I have blond hair. My eyes are green.”

Finally. Something to fill the blank canvas. “How tall are you?”

“Around 6’2. I’m not as lean as I used to be,” he added, apologetic. “Besides walking, I hardly do any exercises. It’s hard to bench press one-handed.”

“Freshman fifteen,” she suddenly blurted out. As soon as she said it, she grimaced and smacked a hand to her forehead.

“Freshman fifteen?” He asked.

Being truthful about her features was only natural. You never knew when a client was actually taking note of it in between frantic strokes of his cock. And some of them sought her repeatedly. But Brienne never mentioned anything personal beyond that. With Jaime, it was tricky. He knew how to get her to open up. She didn’t even speak to Margaery about her dad.

And now she had told him she was in school.

There was no way to take it back. “You know, how, when you leave for college the first time and you stuff yourself with all these starchy food from the cafeteria? And you gain weight? That’s me. But I’m in my junior year now. It’s still there.” She frowned. “On my ass.”

“You’re in college?” Jaime sounded genuinely shocked.

“Yes. Is that. . .is that a problem?” She asked. “I assure you, I’m of legal age. We’re not breaking any laws.”

He chuckled. “That’s good to know. I was genuinely worried for a second.”

“Nothing bad can happen, Jaime. Not when you’re with me.”

She meant it. With her he would be safe. No judgment. No limits. But as soon as the words left her lips, she caught herself. This was too far. Jaime was a client. A paycheck. Nothing more.

It took him a moment to answer. He must have been surprised too.

She mouthed a grunt under her breath and kicked the pillow.

“You know what,” he said slowly. “I believe you.”

 

*****  
Jaime stared woodenly as Dr. Qyburn pulled a stockinette over where here his hand used to be then, then higher. “Feels like a fucking sock,” he muttered, his distaste over the tediousness required to wear the prosthetic obvious.

“Come on. Give it a chance,” Cersei said from behind him. She stood with her arms crossed, a small frown on her face. Tyrion sat on a bench against the wall, occasionally looking up from the book he was reading.

“It will take some getting used to, Jaime,” Dr. Qyburn remarked, giving the stockinette a firm pull before stepping back to examine it. Smiling, he asked, “Now, shall we see your new hand?”

Jaime hated how the man spoke to him like he was five. Trying hard not to roll his eyes, he said, “It’s a hand. Not mine in any way.”

Unperturbed by his cranky and uncooperative patient, Dr. Qyburn went to his desk to get the box holding the hand prosthetic. As Jaime grimaced at the stockinette, Cersei nudged his shoulder from behind.

“Don’t be rude. He’s only doing his job,” she whispered.

“I never said I wanted a fucking hand.,” he complained. “I don’t care how that thing has been modeled after my remaining hand. It’s still not mine. I don’t want one.”

“It will take some getting used to,” Dr. Qyburn said, clearly overhearing their conversation. As Cersei stepped back and awkwardly fixed her hair, he continued, “But this—a myoelectric prosthesis, would give you some movement. Let you hold things firmly, for example. It will function as good as your old hand. You need to use it often so you get used to it, as well as communicating with it.”

“You mean I can finger a woman or pinch her nipples? _Ow!_ ” Jaime yelped as Cersei smacked him on the head. Tyrion laughed.

“Really? That’s your concern? Not being able to grasp doors, possibly being a little more independent?” She demanded.

“He did ask a valid question, Cersei.” Tyrion said, earning a warning look from her. He wisely clamped his lips shut and returned to his book.

Qyburn pulled out a hand and some cables from the box. “Jaime, are you ready?”

He sighed loudly, staring at the. . . _thing._ It had taken months for the fit and comfort to be right. The hand was the color of flesh, his skin tone, the fingers long and elegant, just like his other hand. It was supposed to be part of him.

_Months of work and it looks like raw, skinned chicken._

Jaime sighed again. “Get on with it.”

Cersei stepped aside as Qyburn returned to Jaime’s side.

He pretended to listen as Dr. Qyburn oriented him about the contents of the box: a battery pack, charger, and other doodads he couldn’t be bothered to know more about. He didn’t care that his myoelectric hand was the most advanced. It didn’t matter he could control it with his brain, through electrical signals. It was not _his_ hand. It could look and move as his real hand, but it was not his. It was not _him._

Tyrion stood beside Cersei as Dr. Qyburn proceeded to put the hand on him. As it was fitted around his covered wrist, the doctor then lectured him about caring for it. The thing had to be washed. It could smell. The battery had to be charged. 

But that was the bargain for something false that you wanted to be real. It was fucking work.

As if the daily reminder of what he had lost wasn’t torture enough. Like he was fine whenever confronted with the limp hang of sleeve past his elbow.

Cersei and Tyrion thought they were doing him a favor by gifting him with the hand. Jaime blamed himself for having all those medical journals lying around. He _had_ thought about getting a prosthetic but after looking up the work its care and maintenance entailed, he changed his mind. But he would willingly sell either his niece or nephew if there was a way to regenerate an entire hand.

Science fiction. Outrageous fantasy.

The myoelectric hand cost thousands of dragons—money his brother and sister had pooled together, despite obvious personal financial difficulties. They meant well but had no idea what he went through. Counseling and therapy were band-aids. Drugs basically the equivalent of doorstops. They had only read about the intense, pinprick sensations that came with phantom pain. It plagued Jaime at night, especially when it got cold. He could rage at them but until they lose a limb, they had no inkling of how he felt.

Dr. Qyburn’s voice was dull drone in the background as Jaime continued pretending to listen.

He _had_ been crass bringing up the subject of fingering a woman but now it was becoming a valid question. He was still getting used to jacking off using his left hand. It was unschooled in touching a woman as he had questioned.

He loved women. And they loved him. He only had to smile to get one of them into bed—or two. When he told Zaphyre he could fuck for hours, he hadn’t been kidding. A woman was an endless gift, a bundle of delights—her soft lips, her sexy moans, nipples, cunt. He never cared for bra size. All that mattered was her cunt—wet, willing and hungry for cock—and her natural perfume from between the legs. He enjoyed fucking anally too—feeling a woman tremble, feeling that forbidden passage yield, hearing her moan his name.

He missed fucking.

He also wondered what it would be like to go to bed with someone he loved.

To get there, he should be wanted. Who would want a cripple?

For one wild moment, he let his mind wander to _that_ woman. The woman who might be Zaphyre. He was almost sure she was the woman from the diner—her wild, manic laughter from a few nights ago was exactly what he had heard in the crowd. Theirs was a business relationship but he swore there were moments when she _was_ real. She no doubt faked about being so wet all the time that she ditched panties.

But not her concern. Not the assurance that he was be safe with her. He _knew_ that was true.

“Jaime, let’s test it shall we? Remember that you can control your hand with your mind.” Dr. Qyburn said. “Could you open and close it for me?”

Jaime sighed and stared at the false hand, thinking.

 Sure enough, it opened. Not fully but enough for him to grasp a doorknob, or maybe a wide-necked bottle. Then he thought of opening the hand.

“That’s so fucking cool,” Tyrion patted him on the knee, nodding enthusiastically. “Don’t you think?”

“Then why don’t you chop your hand off and get one of these,” Jaime snapped.

_Who would want a broken man?_

 

******  
Wednesday was Sociology of Religion Class.

Brienne’s favorite class.

She also had it with Tormund.

They would sit together.

Three days had passed since their fallout. Brienne ignored messages and calls from Margaery, and Renly. She felt bad but she was not ready to face questions about what had happened. Hell, she dreaded running into Tormund too, so she kept to her apartment and the library when not at work.

This morning, her feet nearly flattened the package of pastries Margaery had left at her door. She was moved by the gesture and felt worse for ignoring her best friend. She vowed to get in touch with her before the end of the day, if she had managed to dig up for a bigger set of balls to face the music by then.

 

The gods bless work and school for distracting her. Research made her forget the hatred in Tormund’s eyes. Taking down food orders and cleaning tables, mopping kitchen floor at Hollard’s, distracted her from the loss.

And then there was Jaime.

Jaime who asked her about her favorite color, her favorite birthday party. Sports team. Jaime who was also a fan of the medieval fantasy series The Seven Kingdoms by Samwell Tarly. He didn’t ask what she was wearing. If she was wet. Didn’t make a comment about wanting to sniff the treat between her legs. She was grateful. She was in no shape to perform or fake anything.

She walked into the classroom, stepping a little to the side so other students can pass through. Tormund wasn’t in his seat yet. Should she call him? Something told her he wouldn’t appreciate hearing her voice right now. _I can always ask Marge._

Brienne paused by the doorway, scanning the crowd of students getting comfortable in their seat for that shock of vivid red hair. She was still standing there when Professor Howland Reed walked past her, huffing slightly from the books and briefcase he held. “Miss Tarth, will you be joining us today?”

She blushed and nodded. Ducked her head and rushed to her seat. She glanced at Tormund’s empty seat and pulled out her laptop.

Professor Howland Reed’s voice was quite small but his enthusiasm for the subject riveted every student in the room. As Brienne typed notes regarding early religious fundamentalism in Westeros, thoughts about her shattered friendship with Tormund drifted away.

When the bell rang signaling the end of class, Brienne was disappointed. Professor Reed’s lectures always ended at the point where it got most interesting. But like her classmates, she got up, slid her laptop back in her bag and left the room.

She had a few more hours to kill before going to Hollard’s for work. But as she was debating between going to the library to do research on a paper or taking a nap, her phone rang. She frowned at the number of the bar and answered it.

“Brienne. Oh, thank the Seven.” Shae gasped. She was assistant manager at Hollard’s.

“Hi. Is everything okay? I’m not late for my shift, am I?” Brienne asked.

“No. No. Not at all. You’re one of the good ones. Never late. Never absent. Always reliable. How would you like to make extra?”

She would be buying plane tickets to Tarth this week and there was a camera she thought her dad might like. Still, she could always use more.

“Always. What do you have in mind?”

“Dontos is down with the flu,” Shae answered, referring to the owner and manager. “Olyvar had to go home because his mom or somebody from his family had an accident. Mirelle has menstrual cramps. Brienne,” she took a deep breath. “I need you to work until closing tonight. And until one of them returns.”

 _“What?_ ” Brienne squeaked, doing a quick calculation of the hours. She worked part-time because of school and her other job. With the double shift, she wouldn’t be home until two in the morning.

“Brienne, please, please, say yes. You’re the only one I can rely on for this. You know this. Don’t make me beg,” Shae pleaded.

“No, No, I won’t. It’s just that. . .” Brienne tried to scramble for a reason that didn’t begin _I don’t want to miss Jaime._

What was going on? What bond or connection she had with her midnight caller/client made no sense. They were strangers, albeit strangers who have found themselves in a strange sort of intimacy. She knew about his disability. His father. Sensed from his voice how lonely and alone he was. What was lonely and alone in her responded to that. That was all.

The promise of more tips, more money in her account should have her answering in the affirmative. Quickly. In a snap. It seemed her jaw was locked. She might have even forgotten the word for it. All she could think about was missing Jaime’s call. Not hearing his voice. Not talking to him.

Shae, thinking her hesitation was a holding out for a sweet incentive, said, “Tell you what. Help me with this and I’ll have Dontos go easy on you when you take time off to see your Dad. I’ll talk to Sansa to cover your shifts.”

Brienne hated to pass up the chance to earn more money. But she also hated having to miss Jaime’s call. She also needed time to visit her Dad without Dontos giving her a hard time about it. Her job earned her peanuts! It wasn’t a career, but her boss minced no words in airing his displeasure when one of his regular staff took time off, for whatever reason.

“Alright. Of course, I’ll help—”

“Gods, Brienne. You’re an angel. I’ll kiss your feet right now if I wasn’t feeling so tired. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Shae hung up before Brienne could say anything more. She was done. No way out.

 

*******  
On top of adjusting to his new hand and today’s therapy session focused on his brain sending signals to it so it may move as desired, Tyrion hit the stupendous idea of having dinner together. Jaime was ready to crash and just sleep until it was time to call Zaphyre. Cersei, slowing down her car as they approached a bar, was slowly killing the proposal, the Seven bless her.

“Oh, come on, Cersei!” Tyrion protested.

“Look, it’s not easy for me, okay?” Cersei pointed out, stopping the car.

“Hell, bring the kids!”

“Are you fucking me?” Cersei turned around from the driver’s seat to glare at Tyrion. “You want me to bring your niece and nephew to a _bar_?”

“We haven’t had a meal as a family for a long time!”

 _“In a bar?”_ Cersei screeched.

Tyrion sighed in exasperation and collapsed back in the seat. He kicked at the passenger seat, where Jaime was sitting.

“What the actual fuck!” Jaime yelled.

“Talk some sense to your twin,” Tyrion ordered, ignoring his brother’s warning look. “How hard is it to get a babysitter for tonight? Hell, get that useless husband of yours to look after them!”

“Do you know what it took to get Robert to watch them for a few hours last week?” Cersei demanded. “No. Look, I’m sorry I can’t join you. But I won’t be much fun anyway.”

“Keep telling yourself that and no one will even think about fucking you again.” Tyrion told her. Jaime had to smother a laugh. Cersei was practical—almost never buying anything unless it was on sale, and hardly bothered to doll up. She was lucky to be naturally pretty but her age, her impending return to a single status saddled with two kids did worry her. She was hardly without a boyfriend growing up, so her marriage to Robert at twenty-three was a shock.

In Jaime’s opinion, despite her weight gain and kids, his sister had nothing to worry about. Still, she would have to re-think about her uniform of baggy shirts and sneakers.

Cersei and Tyrion’s argument had now turned towards name-calling. Tyrion said she was an old hag who would earn stripes on her ass if she didn’t go out occasionally. Cersei growled he was a no-good dwarf whose dick was no bigger than a pinkie finger. Jaime sighed, closing his eyes, wanting to drown out their loud voices.

“I’m not saying marry the next guy, Cersei. All I’m saying is you still have it—why else is there a lot of MILF porn—so don’t waste it, you know?” Tyrion was saying. “So, come with us, we’ll even scout out someone to fuck in the bathroom for you—”

“Do you have any idea how creep you sound?” Cersei said. “You’re equating _your sister_ to a MILF, you and my other brother want to pick up a guy for me to fuck—what the hell is wrong with you?”

Jaime let out a shout, startling them. “Please don’t tell me we’re going out for dinner to celebrate my fucking hand.”

“Well, why not! You haven’t been out for so long, Jaime. You need to get back out there. You need to have fun. You know, Cersei and I can help you choose a babe--”

“I need to go home.”

“No. No, you’re always home,” Cersei interjected. “Tyrion’s right. You should celebrate.”

“Yes! And you, Cersei, you at least have time for one drink!” Tyrion insisted.

“No, I don’t,” Cersei said firmly. “But you must celebrate.” She looked at both her brothers. “Don’t feel bad about me.” She spoke with quiet command, directing her remark to Tyrion.

So, Jaime and Tyrion slipped out of her car, finding themselves right in front of Hollard’s. As Cersei’s car pulled away, Tyrion winked at Jaime and walked up to the bar.

Jaime envied his brother. Not for his hands but because of his confidence, how he behaved as if he was lord and master. Though just a little over four feet tall, Tyrion carried himself like a man much taller. Six feet at least, Jaime thought, following him.

“This your friendly neighborhood bar, I take it?” he asked, getting the door and letting Tyrion precede him. As soon as it opened, the stink of smoke, beer and sweat hit him. He coughed while Tyrion sniffed deeply.

“Ah. The smell of debauchery and desperation. No, this isn’t really my bar.  Never been here. But they’re having their one-stag-beer night tonight. It’s smack between our respective places too.” Tyrion told him.

Jaime glanced at his watch as he followed his brother to a booth. “The dinner hour should be just about to start.”

“Perfect. That means more time for beer.” Tyrion did a little leap to sit on the faux leather bench. Jaime sat in front of him, putting his hands on the table. As his palm touched the hard, cool surface of the false hand, he flushed and immediately lowered his right arm.

Tyrion, noticing it, shook his head. “It’s not obvious. Even if it was, that’s not your problem.”

“Hi!” A pretty redhead greeted them. She had her hair in a ponytail.

She was young, maybe college-aged or in her early twenties, Jaime guessed. Her eyes were bright, pale blue. He thought she looked cute in her black Hollard’s baby t-shirt, the bar logo done in white block letters. She wore skinny jeans that hugged the round curve of her ass.

He waited for the familiar stirring in his pants.

“Do you know what you gentlemen would like or do you need me to give you time for the menus?” She asked them, hugging the bound menus to her breasts.

Tyrion smiled as Jaime took a sudden interest in the napkin dispenser. “Let’s hear your specials first.”

“Good idea,” the waitress said, handing them the menus. She smiled at Jaime as he reached with his left hand. “We’re having our one-stag-beer night, where local beers and beers on draft go for only one silver stag. For our specials, we’re having the Dothraki Bonanza—barbecued chicken and pork served with garlic, sour cream, and our special Hollard’s sauce, with a side of beer-battered fries. If you want a healthier option, we also have Treasures of Tarth, a seafood platter served with your choice of salad. Interested?”

“The Tarth thing sounds good. Does it serve two?” Tyrion asked when Jaime remained quiet.

“It sure does.” She whipped out her pad. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

“Give us whatever you have on draft that goes well with seafood, oh, and I’d like a basket of fries too. Jaime?”

Jaime shrugged. Nope. Nothing was happening in his pants. “I’m alright.”

“So, you’re having the Treasures of Tarth, fries and I recommend, Hollard’s Last Chance Brew. It’s our best beer.” She gave them another smile. “I’m your server, Sansa. Just give me a holler for anything you might need.”

“So, what do you think?” Tyrion asked after she left.

Jaime looked around, making a face at the group of men at the pool table, the tired, dejected men in their business suits seated at the bar, clearly reluctant to go home to their wives and families. He glanced at a few couples on what appeared to be an obligatory date because they showed more interest in stuffing nachos or calamari in their mouths rather than talking to each other.

The stink of the bar came to him again. Smoke. Beer. Sweat. Sex. He was going to need a shower before bed.

He sighed, turning back to Tyrion.

“I’d rather be home.”

“Of, fuck you. Come on, Jaime. I’m trying here.”

He felt bad. Tyrion was displaying more enthusiasm than a game show host, all for his benefit. “Sorry. I just don’t really feel like socializing.”

“That’s just it. You have to be out and stay out to feel like doing it. Jaime,” Tyrion reached out to grasp him by the left hand. “You lost a hand. Not your appetite. What do you think of our waitress? Cute, isn’t she? Wouldn’t you want to motorboat those tits?”

Jaime chuckled and patted his hand. “She’s way too young.”

“She must be at least twenty-one. You can’t work here unless you’re that age and over. Come on, you should flirt with her a little. She looks like a damn good time. And you deserve a damn good time.”

“Good times. Now that’s something---”

 _“Oh, my Seven! Brienne, you’re here!”_ Sansa screamed.

Jaime and Tyrion looked at the bar to see Sansa and the other waitresses gathering around a very tall blond person. The women couldn’t wait for their turn to engulf whoever it was in their embrace. Jaime chuckled, about to look away from the pile when the small crowd parted to reveal the blond that seemed half a god in their eyes.

The blueness of her eyes struck him even from across the crowded, smoky room.

_Zaphyre_

******  
Because the wait staff were two people short, everyone felt the strain of a one-stag-beer night. An hour into her shift and Brienne’s back was killing her. In the next hour, her feet began to feel like hamburger—to think she was wearing supposedly _very_ comfortable, and _very expensive shoes_. She wore Gendrys, a top brand for running shoes, bought specifically for her work here.

As she scribbled on her pad the order of a new set of customers, she felt it again: the nagging sensation of being watched.

She had felt it upon arriving at the bar. After being welcomed and hailed as a savior by her co-workers, she went to her station, ready and eager to put this night behind her as quickly as possible. She dismissed the feeling as a natural consequence of a very crowded bar where they were practically throwing beer away. How could people not watch her, trying to catch her eye? Someone always wanted a beer refill. Or the Dothraki Bonanza. Or the bill.

She poured water into a glasses, took the elegant tumbler where they served beer to refill it for a customer, fetched more napkins and brought baskets of either fries or bowls of nachos to tables through the night. Her movements were automatic, almost, and she only had to look at the faces of people to know what they needed. Most of the time she got it right.

“Hey, Sandor,” she called out to the short order cook through the kitchen window. She tacked the latest order then turned it, so he’ll see. “I need Smoked Valyrian Ribs, a War Hammer Burger, no onions, extra pickles, and the deep-fried Tully Trout Pops.”

“You’re killing me, Tarth,” Sandor complained, pretending to make a face. With the burn scars on his face, he wore a permanent, pained grimace.  Brienne grinned at him.

“Come on. It will take more than a few pieces of meat to kill you,” she teased.

“Sandor, I need three wolf subs and one king-sized nachos, please,” Jeyne Pool told him. Short and skinny, she was the smallest among them. Her sleek, dark hair swirled around her shoulders as she turned to nudge at Brienne, pointing behind them with her thumb. “You’ve seen him?”

“Who?” Brienne asked.

“Some idiot the girls have been gushing over all night. Sansa’s station,” Sandor said, looking at their order sheets. He cursed under his breath and looked at Jeyne. “Who the fuck orders salad on a one-stag-beer night?”

Jeyne shrugged. “Customer’s always right, my sweet summer child.”

Just then, Sansa came up, looking harried—even her ponytail was now limp. “Sandor, don’t kill me. But I need two Dothraki Bonanzas and Riverrun salad.” As she spoke, she tacked the new sheet.

“Man, there’s only me and Podrick in the kitchen,” Sandor complained but getting the new order sheet anyway. “And another salad?”

Jeyne nudged Sansa conspiratorially. “So, tell us. Is he single?”

“Gods, are we still on that?” Sansa complained.

“What are you guys talking about?” Brienne demanded.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “They’ve been getting their panties wet over this guy at my station. I admit he’s really hot—if you’re into scruff. But he’s missing a hand, come on.”

Brienne’s ears perked up. “Excuse me?”

“And he’s not interested in flirting,” Sansa continued, shrugging. “Believe me, I did try to see if he was into me. I can get past the lack of a hand and all. Still, it would be very awkward when he removes that thing and tries to show me the stump.  But he _is_ hot. A cute haircut and a shave and he can be a model.”

“It’s the guy with the dwarf,” Jeyne told Brienne.

“Order up. Waffle-cut fries!” Sandor called out.

“That’s mine,” Yara Greyjoy growled, popping out of nowhere to snatch the dish. Brienne, Sansa and Jeyne leaped out of the way. She snatched the plate, the scowl on her face deepening some more and harshening the light in her gray eyes.

The other girls looked at each other as she stormed back into the dining area, her short dark hair bouncing at every step. Yara was not big on conversation with them, or anyone. Jeyne suspected the reason was Yara felt she was above them, being in law school while the rest of them were either in college or have dropped out. It explained the attitude.

Shae, catching sight of them from the bar, gave them a look. “You’re not being paid to stand around, ladies.”

 “Sorry,” Brienne muttered, moving away and going back to the tables. Because she was a little distracted, she nearly collided right into someone. Hands went up to steady each other. As she blushed and got ready to apologize, she found her gaze snared by eyes the exact color of emeralds.

And those gorgeous eyes came with the face of half a god. Brienne’s stomach fluttered as she took note of a lock of blond hair fallen rakishly across his forehead. He had a full but trimmed beard. The brilliance of his stare was marred by bloodshot sclera and the dark rings under his eyelashes. _Half a god still._

Normally, Brienne would be wary, but she didn’t smell alcohol from his skin. He didn’t have the blank, bleary stare of a drunk. He did seem to have trouble keeping upright, as he kept shifting his weight from one foot then the other. It must have been a while since he’d had alcohol, she guessed. Or he was not the type to drink more than he could, until tonight. One-stag-a-beer night drew a lot of the lost, the desperate and the lonely. Very few who were truly happy came by.

The man looked tired. Like he needed a few good night’s sleep to recover. But—Brienne was embarrassed, but she could not stop staring. Never had she laid eyes on something so elegant, and sculpted with the deft hands of the Seven. There was cute, good-looking, then there was handsome. Her breath hitched as she gazed at the scruff outlining the firm line of his jaw.

This guy was handsome beyond anything she had ever seen.

Maybe it was her own tiredness and loneliness, but an image of his face between her thighs sprang in her mind, as well as the hot, tingling abrasion of his scruff against her skin. The crimson in her cheeks deepened and she looked away.

“I’m sorry---“she mumbled at the same he asked, “Are you alright?”

She nodded. Realizing her hands were on his chest, she quickly dropped them. His own hands fell from her shoulders. Small, awkward smiles were exchanged, and his hand went up to push at the lock from his forehead. Without meaning to, her eyes went to his hand.

A prosthetic hand. The color of his skin yet not really.

And he _saw_ her staring at it. Wanting to die, she lowered her eyes to her sneakers again. She quickly moved past him, hoping she hadn’t upset him too much. But he suddenly called to her.

“Hey. You.”

It didn’t take a brain cell or two to know who he meant. She slowly turned back to him, unsuccessfully hiding her wince at his scowl. If looks could kill, indeed.

_Green eyes. Blond hair. Missing a hand._

“Do you have coffee?” The man demanded, interrupting the math in her head.

She frowned, staring at him in disbelief. _It couldn’t be_ —

“Miss.” He said a little more loudly, stepping closer to her and awkwardly snapping the fingers of his left hand before her eyes. “Did you hear me?”

“Y-Yes, yes. We have—coffee.” She stammered. Flushing, she added, “Sir, I’m sorry—”

“About what?” His look dared her to say exactly what she was sorry about.

She was making things worse, she realized.  Biting her lip, the words tumbled out in a tangled rush, “About-about not hearing you earlier. Coffee. H-How many?”

“Two.” He practically jammed his two fingers up her nostrils before stomping away. “Over there. That table.”

Brienne watched him sit heavily on a booth at Sansa’s station. He _was_ the hot guy they were talking about, she realized, spotting the dwarf he was with. The dwarf was pouring the beer from a glass into his.

For one wild moment, she was tempted to call _Jaime._ She was sure it was him. Didn’t he tell her he had blond hair and green eyes? And missing a hand? How many hot, green-eyed men had one hand? In the city?

Yara came up to her, nudging her too sharply on the arm. “Some guy from your station wants to know what happened to his Smoked Valyrian Ribs. He also wants another beer,” she said, sounding cross. Her gray eyes gleamed with displeasure over having to remind her of a task, or perhaps because she had to speak to Brienne.

Brienne sighed. Back to work.

 

*****  
Was the giant wench Zaphyre? Could it be?

Sadly, it wasn’t the tall, blue-eyed, plain-faced waitress he had bumped into earlier that brought the coffee, but Sansa. Tyrion was openly leering at her, giving her a drunken smile as she put the two coffee mugs on their table, along with a small tray bearing the choices of sugar or sweetener and creamer. Some back-and-forth exchange took place between the waitress and his brother, but Jaime wasn’t interested.

Nothing came close to how intrigued he was by the tall, massive woman. That’s what she was. He was a few inches over six feet and the wench a bit taller than him. He did think she was a man at the diner because of her height and short blond hair but after seeing her up close, he wondered how he had thought that. Yes, she was plain—and that was already being generous—but her fucking eyes. Holy Seven Hells. He had never seen that kind of blue. Sapphires.

_Pretty eyes._

She got her nickname from that, he was almost sure. She had to know her eyes were the blue of sapphires. Perhaps the gods decreed her to be so unbelievably ugly for one to appreciate the stunning beauty of her eyes. Clear and round, bright. Kind. Calm. Just. . . _beautiful._

His blasted hand. It was going to ruin him, he thought, staring it. If only he could chuck it but Cersei and Tyrion had put serious money into giving him as realistic a hand as possible, loaded with the latest technology too. The wench’s reaction was normal, he thought, watching her weave through the crowd, head bowed to avoid hitting the exposed beams and lights. She had only stared. There was no disgust nor pity in her eyes.

Sansa left them. Tyrion was having trouble sitting up, which meant Jaime would have to see him home first before hitting the sack. Glad that his brother was intent on recovering from the numerous glasses of beer he’d drained, Jaime observed the activity of the bar.

Every table, and even every stool at the bar, was occupied. At the bar were women mainlining tequilas, shrieking and toasting to their friend, who wore a cheap veil over her head. On tables were more friends, boyfriends and girlfriends, maybe husband and wives. They were all here to kick back and have as much beer as possible. Conversation was the least of their options. The waitresses were everywhere at once, serving drinks and foods, taking new orders. One was clearing a table.

She was all he saw. The giant blond.

While the other waitresses had their shirts tucked in, hers had the tail out. Jaime was not an ass man but he did wonder how hers looked in the skinny jeans she wore. The pants hugged her thick thighs and clung to her long legs. Her t-shirt was loose, but he didn’t need to look closely to see her nipples. A pity her shirt was black. Had it been white, he would know if she had pink nipples, or if they were a faint, cinnamon shade.

Watching her clear a table by piling the dirty dishes and used glasses on a big, round tray, followed by quick, efficient wipes with the rag on the surface, he zeroed in on the slight curve of her ass her bent position revealed. She was right across from him, inadvertently giving him a show with the undulations of her body. Despite the crowd and the haze of smoke, when her shirt lifted a bit higher on her back, he _swore_ he saw dots of sweat gleaming like diamonds on her flushed skin.

He didn’t have a back fetish. Swear to the Seven he didn’t. But right now, his tongue watered at the idea of licking the sweat off every inch of her massive body. The room shifted before his eyes as he imagined his head pressed between her thighs, inhaling the sweat-laced musk of her cunt.

He would fuck her for _days._ Not just hours. He will demand that she never remove her eyes from him. He would look into them as he pushed his cock inside her again and again. He wondered if her eyes would light up like a thousand stars if she came. Gods. He would be relentless in making her come repeatedly.

He pretended to cough and shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the familiar, pulsating sensation from his cock. Ridiculous that he was _probably_ getting turned on by a stranger, who _may_ be his midnight seductress. Ugly too. Glaringly ugly except the eyes. He watched her heft the laden tray smoothly over her head. Thighs crossed one in front of the other and he remembered the scents Zaphyre claimed to use. _You can’t exactly sniff this wench between the legs to know._

“I think my face is melting,” Tyrion suddenly groaned before taking a small sip of coffee. He hissed and smacked a hand to his lips, drying them. “I think my digestive system’s been incinerated too. What the fuck is that? Crude oil?”

“It’s perfectly decent coffee,” Jaime said, sampling it. Alright. It wasn’t the best. But decent enough to knock the strength back to his legs. Unlike Tyrion, he was never a big drinker. Two glasses of beer were enough to fuck with him. He’d had four.

“It’s battery fuel or something,” Tyrion complained, tearing a packet of creamer to shake it over the beverage. He looked sick before taking another sip.

“It’s coffee in a bar with one-stag-beer-night, Tyrion. What did you expect?” Jaime took a deep breath and drank halfway down the cup before putting it away.

“Jaime,” Tyrion sounded close to death. His dark blonde hair was ruffled, and his eyes kept fluttering closed. “I don’t think I can get up.”

Jaime sighed. “Yes, you can. Hold on.”

There was no way to wait for the check. He got his wallet, pulled out a few bills, including tip. He went to Tyrion’s side, offering his hand rather than carrying him like a child. His brother would murder him if he did. Tyrion groaned again but took his hand, grabbing it tightly.

“Are you okay to walk?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion took a deep breath and nodded.

“Let’s go, then.”

As he ushered his brother out of the bar, a surly-faced girl with dark hair and gray eyes passed them. A light bulb went off Jaime’s head.

“Hold on,” he told Tyrion, leaving him by the door. “Excuse me. Miss,” he went to the girl, who turned around. She looked at him from head to toe. Her expression conveyed she was not impressed.

“What can I help you with?” She asked, sounding bored.

Jaime awkwardly reached for his wallet with one hand, transferred it to his myoelectric hand to hold. Opening it with his flesh hand, he pulled out twenty dragons.

“The name of the blond,” he said, handing her the bill. “The big one. The tallest with the blue eyes.”

 

*******

_Home._

Her studio apartment cramped and tucked in a soon-to-condemned old, factory building was _home._

Her legs rubbery from standing for hours barely carried Brienne to the bed, where she flopped down face-first, shoes still on, bag still strapped on her shoulder. She could sleep for the rest of the week.

As soon as she closed her eyes, she found herself back at Hollard’s. She was asleep on one of the tables, her body curled and bent to fit into the small space. She sat up, rubbing the sore muscles on her neck, rubbing the sensation back in her arm that seemed wrapped in pins and needles.

The bar was empty yet looked as if it was just waiting for customers to come in. Or perhaps just one person. She climbed down the table, her ears picking up a strange, whooshing sound. Frowning, she headed for the door, realizing that something was wrong in this world. She opened it, expecting the darkness of the city.

Sunlight welcomed her. White and golden. And under her feet was sad rather than concrete. The endless stretch of clear, sapphire water beckoned to her.

_Tarth._

When she looked back, Hollard’s was no longer there. There was more sand. More water. When she looked back ahead of her, she saw someone standing by the shore, head bent as his left hand fitted what turned out to be a prosthetic on his right arm. He looked up at her as she approached.

It was the man from the bar. Blond hair. Emerald eyes.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be, she remembered thinking as a word fell from her lips. A whisper in the wind.

_“Jaime.”_

Startled, Brienne opened her eyes and saw darkness surrounding her. Then came the faint sound of sirens, something heavy crossing over a pothole. The smell of her sweat from her dry t-shirt wafted under her nostrils.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

She groaned, turning away. But it continued to ring, causing the bed to shake from its vibration. Wearily, she flicked on the bedside lamp, rubbed her eyes. She groped for the phone in her bag and answered it.

“Hello.”

“Zaphyre?”

Her dream still fresh, she pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at it in disbelief.

“Zaphyre?” He repeated. His voice was small, plaintive. “It’s—It’s Jaime. I know I don’t usually call at this time—”

“H-Hi.” She said, pressing the phone back to her ear. Jaime was calling her. Jaime was on the other line.

She had not been able to concentrate at work earlier, especially as midnight approached. The money was not the problem. She was not just used to his calls. She looked forward hearing his voice.

“I hope. . .I wasn’t able to call you at the usual time,” he said. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t disappoint you. And it looks like I got you out of bed—”

“No. No. And it’s alright,” she said, lying back in bed. Putting him on speaker, she rooted in her back again for the headset. “I was worried I’d missed you.”

_“Fuck.”_

“What?” She asked, startled.

“Nothing. Just. . .nothing.” But she could hear him breathing rapidly.

“Jaime, are you okay?”

“No.”

“Is it your hand?” He had told her that sometimes he had trouble sleeping because the phantom pain where his hand used to be got sharp and intense.

He sighed again. “Yes and no. Shit. Hold on.”

She listened to the rustle of the phone probably placed on the bed, then the creak from the floor under his footsteps. She heard a door slam. She took the opportunity to put on her headset so she could lie more comfortably and without holding the phone.

She was thinking he had forgotten about her, or had gotten caught up as the minutes ticked by. But there was another rustle, louder, faster. Then his breathing.

“Jaime.” She was beginning to worry. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Another rustle. She wondered if he was in bed, like her.

“I drank more than I should,” he groaned. “My brother took me out to celebrate my new hand.”

_It’s the guy with the dwarf._

“You have a. . .” Brienne gulped, remembering the guy. “A prosthetic?”

“Unfortunately. It’s a lot of fucking work. I just. . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, sounding confused. “I really don’t know. Look, I should go. I shouldn’t have. . .it’s way too late. I took a chance, I didn’t know you’d answer---”

“No, it’s alright. Jaime.” She urged him. “Talk to me. Please.”

“I don’t feel so good.”

F“Get something to eat. Drink water.”

“I don’t want to move. My head is spinning.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry. If I were there. . .”

She trailed off, blushing. _Here I go again. He’s a client._

“Yes?” He asked. “What. . .what will you do so I won’t feel like Seven Hells?”

In her mind, she didn’t see the handsome guy from the bar. She could only imagine a faceless man, alone, in pain. Lonely. So lonely that he called his favorite phone sex operator for company.

She didn’t pity him. Her heart broke for his wretched life. She knew how that felt.

“Kiss you,” she whispered. “All over.”

“But not my stump.”

“Especially the stump. That’s where I’d start,” she answered truthfully. “It’s where I’ll keep coming back to. Until it no longer hurts.”

_She really would._

“I kiss you all over,” she repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Kiss your eyes, down your nose. Then I take your lips. I kiss you lightly, there, at first, tasting you. I—I take your face in my hands then I kiss you on the mouth.”

She closed her eyes as she continued, imagining herself in bed with a broken man, soothing his pain with every brush of her lips. Her lips tingled. Her breathing quick, shallow. “I can’t stop kissing you, Jaime.”

“When do I get to kiss you?” He asked, his voice strained.

“Anytime you want,” she vowed. “I don’t want you hurt.”

 _“Zaphyre,”_ he groaned.

The name should bring her back to reality. She was letting the fantasy consume her.

She didn’t care. Flattening herself on the bed, adjusting her headset, she pleaded, “How will you kiss me? Where?”

“I’ll drink from your mouth,” he declared. “Bite your thick lips. Lick them. Kiss you until your lips are swollen. I won’t stop until they’re half the size of your face.”

“Yes,” she whispered, licking her lips, imagining. _Feeling._ Gods. She could feel.

“I want to kiss down your neck. Right where your pulse is. It’s a sensitive spot.”

She nodded as she touched herself, there. She inhaled loudly.

“Zaphyre, are you touching yourself?”

_“Yes.”_

“Damn. I should be there.”

“Tell me how you’d touch me.”

“What are you wearing?”

She had no energy to lie. “I’m still wearing my uniform from the bar. I’ll take it off—”

“No.”

She opened her eyes. “No?”

“Keep your shirt on. Get rid of the rest.”

The command in his tone caused her nipples to tighten. “Aye, aye, captain,” she whispered. “Give me a quick second.”

She kicked off her shoes, her socks, then wrenched the belt off her jeans before dragging the clinging denim down her legs. Her hands skimmed the waistband of her panties.

She pulled them off too.

“I’m back,” she told Jaime, lying on the bed.

“Gods. I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”

“Me too.”

She thought she heard him smile as he spoke. “I promise to make it good for you. Spread your legs, Zaphyre.”

“You go right to the point. I like it,” she said, obeying him. A shaft of air kissed her cunt, making her purr.

“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already purring.”

“Because you’re going to touch me.” She lowered a hand between her legs, moving her head side to side gently.  “Jaime. _Touch me._ ”

“I kiss your neck, put my hand under your shirt.”

She licked her lips, slipped a hand under her t-shirt. “Yes.”

“Touch your breasts, Zaphyre. Play with your nipples. Pinch them.”

“Um.” She moaned, fondling her tits, squeezing the small mounds. As he asked, she caught one nipple between her fingers and pulled. _“Jaime.”_

“Pinch them again.”

She pushed her other hand under the shirt, cupped her tits. She squeezed her thighs together as her pussy swelled.

“Imagine that’s both my hands. Touching you. Squeezing you. Then I kiss you back on the mouth. Your soft, soft, _hot_ lips.” He groaned.

_“Jaime.”_

Her tongue flicked out. As if Jaime were right there, sparring with his tongue. Then a kiss. Another. Primal. Wild. Needy. A face began to form in her mind: blond hair, a lock falling over a  high forehead, golden brows arched over emerald eyes tilting up at the corners, the long, slim ridge of a nose. Firm lips. Scruff. Thick scruff. She imagined those hairs scraping her chin, her cheeks.

 As Jaime continued to whisper harshly about how much he wanted to kiss her, one of her hands lowered to the growing ache between her thighs.

“Fuck. You really should be here, Zaphyre. I want to see your eyes.” He growled. “You said you have blue eyes. Tell me. How blue. What are they like?”

“S-Sapphire,” she grunted. “I swear.”

A whimper left her lips as she parted her damp folds with a slender finger. Her legs thrashed, thighs clamped around her hand.

Jaime let out a breath. “Sapphire.”

“Yes. Jaime. _Keep touching me._ ”

“Gods. Spread your legs.”

She gasped, flinging her legs wide open. The whorls of her finger pads were liquid fire to her clit. She shrieked, shutting her legs quickly.

Jaime, hearing the slap of flesh, growled, “No. Keep them open.”

“Jaime—” She panted, squeezing her thighs harder.

_“Zaphyre, please.”_

He sounded like he was between heaven and hell. Brienne spread her legs again, once again exposing her stiff clitoris to her fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut, her own touches burning her alive.

“I kiss down your body,”  Jaime whispered, his voice shaking. “You open your legs even wider, touch my hair, linger behind my ears. Gods, I can smell you. I can smell how wet you are. The air smells of you. Fuck, I can taste you.”  He breathed harshly, deeply.

Hearing a sharp rustling from him, she listened as he went on, “I put my head between your thighs. Smell you some more. You smell so fucking good, Brienne. A treat. Just for me. So fucking wet. Gods. You’re unreal. I can’t stop licking you--”

 _“Yes, Jaime,”_ she moaned, touching her clitoris in rapid, circular strokes. Her spine arched from the bed. _“Fuck. So good.”_

“I lick your wet little cunt over and over. You’re wetter at each pass. More sticky.”

She sobbed, feeling moisture slide out of her cunt. _“Jaime, please.”_

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to fuck yourself.  Fast.”

Brienne’s eyes opened as she fucked herself gently, very gently at first. Jaime panting, grunting at her ear made everything so real. As if he were right there. Not tonguing her but touching her. His finger fucking her cunt. Sinking its entire length in her soaked slit. She could see _him._ The guy from the bar. She closed her eyes, pretending, hoping he was Jaime. _Her Jaime._

She imagined those emerald eyes burning as they watched her. His lips curled in a half-snarl as if to bite her, or maybe devour her. Eat her out. The rhythm of her fingers increased, making her catch her breath at the spike in her pleasure. The heels of her feet dug and slid up and down the sheets.

“Come for me—”

Brienne cut him off with a startled scream, her back curving sharply, her cunt squeezing tightly around her finger. As she rippled and tightened around her finger, her hips thrust in the air, flung into the timeless dance of union and passion. Three thrusts, then one lingering squeeze around her finger.

As she lay in bed with her arms and legs heavy and useless, trying to understand what had just happened. What she _had_ done. How she _felt._

“Fuck, Zaphyre. Holy Seven Hells. Fuck.” Jaime hissed before crying out. 

She lay in the mess and wet of her body. Pillow damp from her sweat. The sheets and blankets  sticky. Eyes watching the languid dance of golden stars. She tried to make sense of what had happened, though she knew the how and why. As her heartbeat slowed from its galloping pace, it hit her: 

_What had she done?”_


	4. Never Whole Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woman and spice, silk. A trifecta of heavenly, sensual delights that should make his head swim and his cock rise hard and eager from his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed the chapter. I wasn't too happy with the first!

You knew she had arrived because of the quiet in the air. Cutlery still clanged, albeit slowly. Water whooshed surely into a goblet. Conversations continued, but the hum and drone of this scattered music dropping to a near-hush. A half-smile formed on Jaime’s lips as he gazed at the striking, dark-haired woman making her way past the other clothed tables to his.

He wasn’t the only one staring at her.

With soft, thick midnight waves framing her face, large, dark eyes, full, ripe lips and smooth, warm honey skin, Taena Merryweather drew eyes and aroused desire from men and women. She was dressed in a biker jacket over a plain white tee, dark pants flaring gently around the knee, and low-heeled boots. Though her clothes were far from revealing, they hugged her full curves, suggesting to the world the sensual body underneath.

Jaime couldn’t stop himself imagining her naked. More than a year had passed but he still remembered how her full tits jiggled hard when he fucked her, how tight her little dark nipples got. His nose picked up the spicy scent of her musk and perfume, and memory said it clung to the backs of her ears. He remembered the wet, silky feel of her pussy under his tongue. She had tasted faintly of cinnamon.

Sitting in a booth, watching her approach him with a sly smile on her lips, it seemed he was back in his office, for the moment forgetting his duty to prosecute and deliver justice as she sucked his cock deep down her throat. As soon as she was close enough, he glimpsed the dark shadow of her bra under the tee.

He stood up, relieved he had taken the time to have his sport coat professionally pressed, that he was wearing the pinstriped shirt Cersei got him last Christmas. He could almost forget the myoelectric hand hanging from his stump. Taena’s gaze drifted there briefly before turning back to him.

“Jaime Lannister,” she purred. Her slender fingers fluttered to his jaw, a shine in her midnight gaze as she looked up at him. She kissed him on the lips, and there was her scent again. How many times had he buried his face in the silky waves of her hair, kept his cock in her through the night to celebrate the deliverance of justice?

Taena Merryweather was an excellent fuck. She enjoyed fucking but not relationships. It made what they had ideal.

As they stood close to each other, Jaime waited for the familiar simmer of lust to seize him. He loved women, and Taena had been a favorite in the long list because she _lived_ to fuck. He smiled, expecting the tell-tale thrust of his cock under his jeans when her hand drifted briefly down his chest before returning to her side.

“Where have you been keeping to yourself after all this time?” But her scold was playful.

“You look amazing,” he told her sincerely. The half-smirk remained on his lips, but it was becoming an effort. It was good to see her. But there was no heated stirring in his loins. It was disconcerting.

“It’s easy to look amazing, difficult to feel close to it. But I think that might change now I’ve seen you,” Taena declared. Jaime quickly pulled out a chair for her, grunting softly under his breath at its weight. With two hands it was nothing. With one hand and a false one, it was like lifting a dead weight of twenty pounds.

If she noticed his difficulty, she hid it well. Instead, she gave him another bright smile and sat down. Jaime returned to his seat.

“I see you have a new hand. How’s it working for you?” Taena asked. “Does this mean you’re going back to the DA’s office?”

A server approached to tell them the lunch specials. Jaime shut him up with just one look, making Taena smile before biting it back, keeping a straight face. Flushing, the server handed leather-bound menus. He got a glare from Jaime when he noticed the prosthetic, and looked a second too long. He practically scurried off, muttering he will give them a few minutes to make their choices.

“Nothing’s changed for you, it seems,” Taena remarked, glancing at the hand then shifting her eyes to the menu.

“So, it seems,” Jaime murmured, giving the page of fancy lettering a bored look. He rubbed his right wrist gently. Dr. Qyburn said it would be a while before he got used to the pressure of having the prosthetic. He did exercises to avoid muscle atrophy in his right arm, but the hand felt as heavy as a barrel of rocks. “I’m still learning. Anything you like?”

“The Cobb salad would be fine with me,” Taena said. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t say very long.”

“I’ll have the same, then,” Jaime wasn’t particularly hungry. But for what he was about to ask Taena, he thought to take her out to lunch. There was nothing illegal about his request, but it could be tricky given their positions. Or currently, her position and their past. He also didn’t want to set foot at the police station and deal with questions about his return.

 Another look from Jaime and the server returned. He was firm and direct with the order, delivering it in a way that the server never made any more suggestions. Good. Jaime was not in the mood to be charmed into ordering something unpronounceable and the size of a matchbook. Left alone again, he turned to Taena.

“I admit being a little disappointed with the setting, nice as it is,” She told. But the sparkle in her eyes and the smile she fought to suppress said she was jesting. She sat back in her seat, the action drawing her t-shirt tight across her tits. “I was hoping you called because you wanted to fuck me.”

Jaime chuckled. “Maybe another time. If you’re still interested. So, I still make the cut, then?”

“You lost a hand, Jaime. You didn’t get castrated.” She patted the prosthetic, slipping a thumb under the cuff of his sleeve to stroke his wrist. “Seriously. How are you? When are you coming back to the DA’s office?”

He didn’t know what to tell her. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“You’ve been gone too long. A little over a year already.”

“Counting?”

“Criminals, yes. You’re the only one who can stand up to those bastards and actually put them all away.”

He looked at his prosthetic. “The price was too high.”

When he looked back at Taena, she was staring at him sympathetically. He barely managed to stop from scowling. He didn’t need empathy. Nor sympathy. He wanted his hand back.

“Why am I here, Jaime? What can I do for you?”

For the nth time, he wondered if grief over the loss of his hand, and the life that lay ahead of him, had sent him over the edge. Since the first night Zaphyre had spoken to him, something had changed. Maybe he was a little hopeful now, compared to before. Just hearing her voice. . .it was insane, but he felt. . .better. Always better. There was still a hole in his heart and he felt adrift in the open sea but something about her always steered him closer to home.

He didn’t forget what had been lost. With Zaphyre, he could imagine himself whole again.

“I know what I’m asking, but I promise, I just need to know more about her.” Jaime pulled out a slip of paper from the inside of his coat and pushed it to her. Taena grasped it under her hand then unfolded it.

Looking at the name, she asked, “Who is she?”

“A waitress at Hollard’s. I have reason to believe she attends Westeros University. She must be twenty-one, twenty-two, tops. It’s for a friend,” he thought to add.

Just speaking of her made him hot under the collar. There was no forgetting her throaty cries of pleasure. He refused to consider that Zaphyre was an excellent actress. She may have pretended before but that wasn’t what he heard last night.

His bed back in the apartment was sticky and stained from last night. Hell, the room still stank of his come when he woke up. He had come to the sound of Zaphyre’s voice—her whispers, her sexy, husky moans. _Fuck._ Her cries were imbedded in his brain, playing again, and without really being remembered. He was sure she had come for real last night, unlike the many other nights.

He had come the hardest too, probably the hardest in his life. To a voice. And thinking of the young woman from Hollard’s as his Zaphyre. _Brienne Tarth._ Pale hair. Stunning sapphire eyes. Big, crooked nose. Thick, chapped lips. An explosion of freckles from her face down to her arms. He was going crazy thinking how heavily freckled her chest could be. If she also had freckles on her cunt. How wet did she get last night?

_I swear to the Seven if that ugly, giant wench is a squirter I won’t stop fucking her._

“Do you trust this friend?” Taena tucked the paper in the pocket of her jeans.

Jaime looked at her in the eye. “I do. He. . .he means her no harm. You have my word, Taena.”

 

*************  
Because of exhaustion and the emotional and mental toll of the last few days, Brienne forgot to set her alarm and didn’t wake up until half past noon. Instead of leaping out of bed in panic, she just stayed there, staring at the ceiling.

Last night, she had come for real. To a total stranger.

_Jaime._

She didn’t know whether to be mortified. Or let it go. Could not even make the decision to either shower or at least wash the stickiness from her cunt. Hours had passed since Jaime’s call ended yet there was still the faint note of sex in the air. Her smell.

_Gods._

Then she fell asleep again.

Her growling stomach woke her up hours later, prompting a quick decision about food. Her muscles creaking and snapping at every movement, she sat up and left the bed. She yanked the Hollard’s t-shirt off her head, tossing it in the basket to wash later. She put on a plaid flannel robe then went to the kitchen to check the food situation.

 _Nothing._ Not even one cup of instant ramen noodles. Or one damn egg.

Having no choice but to go out and buy food, she took a quick shower. In the closet, she discovered only two clean t-shirts, one sweater, and three pairs of pants—one track bottoms and two jeans. No clean panties. Jaime’s longer calls meant she was sleeping later and waking up just in time to get dressed and run to school. Add the mess with Tormund plus the escalating requirements in some of her subjects and it was no surprise she had forgotten to do a wash, let alone hit the store for food.

Her nipples were still swollen from her touches, following Jaime’s instructions. Her face and neck burned remembering his husky orders and her eagerness to follow, _to please him_. The vividness of her blush deepened when she pulled her jeans up, the thick seam of the denim rubbing against her still-swollen slit a sweet and almost cruel tease.

She checked her bag for her wallet, for money, then keys, before getting her phone and locking up. It should not take her too long, and maybe she could squeeze some more time to study or go to the library before her next shift at Hollard’s.

She was quick with her food shopping, leaving the supermarket with a bag full of noodles, cookies, bacon, a carton of eggs, cornflakes and a few vegetables for a salad. She swung by Rayder’s Burgers, getting herself a double cheeseburger with extra cheese and pickles, a large basket of fries and a big paper cup of soda. The aroma of deep-fried potatoes was irresistible, so she began eating them during the walk home.

Brienne let herself in the lobby, glad that for once the elevator was working. The fries were gone by the time she arrived at her floor, but her stomach was growling for more.

She turned around the corner to her apartment, reaching into the bag for the burger when she saw someone waiting for her.

“Margaery.”

 

**********  
“Is everything okay, Brienne?”

Long, wavy brown hair spilling over her shoulders, and butter-brown eyes watching her every movement, Margaery Tyrell sat at the foot of the bed. The bag containing heavenly fragrant pastries at her, a tray of two tall cups of coffee by her feet.

Brienne, putting away a few packs of noodles in the cupboard, simply closed the door and looked at her best friend uncertaintly.

“I don’t know. Are you going to yell at me?”

Margaery looked surprised. “For what?”

Brienne put the boxes of cornflakes in next before opening the door of the fridge for the bacon and eggs. The icy shaft from the compartment stung her cheeks. “Tormund.”

“He’s pretty broken up,” Margaery said after a moment. “But I’m not here because of him. I’m here for you. You haven’t been answering my calls. I’m worried about _you_.”

“Really?” Brienne was still suspicious although her eyes teared up that someone in this city worried about her. Someone in her life, not a voice in the phone. “You’re worried about me—despite the horrible thing I’ve done to a friend?”

“I don’t believe you’re horrible. And you’re my friend. My best friend. Shit, Brienne. Is that what you think?  I was calling to yell at you over Tormund?” Margaery looked hurt.

She went to the tall girl, hugging her fiercely from behind and kissing her on the arm, the highest she could reach. Tears welled up in Brienne’s eyes at the spontaneous gesture of comfort and assurance. Last night her friends at work had hugged her for saving their lives. And now she was getting a hug from her best friend. She sniffed, hating how moved she was. It had been so long since anyone had touched her this way.

“I can never hate you, you idiot,” Margaery murmured against her shoulder. “What you had with Tormund, that’s your business unless you want to tell me. My concern is you’re okay.”

Brienne turned around to hug her. “Thanks, Marge.”

Margaery kissed he firmly on the cheek. “You’re okay, right?”

Brienne bit her lip as they let go of each other. “I’ll be fine.”

“Come on. Sit down. You look like you’ve had a hell of a night. I didn’t see you in school today.” Margaery remarked, going back to the bed to fetch the coffee and pastries there. Brienne rubbed her eyes, still feeling sleepy and a little tired.

“Pulled a double shift at Hollard’s,” Brienne said as Margaery rejoined her. Handed a tall cup of classic Dornish roast, she took a deep whiff of the beverage and felt herself revived. “Gods, Marge. You’re an angel.”

As she sipped the hot drink, Margaery arranged the croissants on a plate before sitting with her. Her small teeth bit into the flaky pastry, scattering the bits on the table. Chewing delicately, she chased it with a sip of cappuccino. Brienne helped herself to one of the pastries. She thought the fries had satisfied her stomach, but it had resumed its demanding growls for more when she had the coffee.

“Have you. . .”  Brienne blushed as she tore the croissant into little pieces, looking for the chunk with most chocolate. “Have you spoken to Tormund?”

“Yeah. Bree, he’s mentioned things.”

Brienne shrugged. “I thought I could make it work. I thought. . .I could like him more.”

Margaery put a hand over hers. “He still likes you. I can tell.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I do want you to know I’m here. And I’m on your team no matter what.”

“Thanks.” Brienne squeezed her hand. “That means a lot.”

They ate and drank quietly for a few minutes. Brienne split half the burger with Margaery, who beamed at her in delight. As she got a knife from one of the drawers, Margaery looked around the apartment, her eyes lingering on the bed before meeting watching her friend return to the table.

“Brienne?” She asked.

“Yeah?” Brienne got the sandwich and began sawing through it.

“Look, I know it’s none of my business and I’m sure I’m just imagining things but. . .your apartment smells like sex.”

 

********

As Jaime got ready for his nightly stroll, someone buzzed from outside. He frowned, looking at the clock on the wall. Who would come at this hour?

He opened the door and found a pair of sultry black eyes staring back at him. Taena laughed at the surprise on his face and she held up a folder to him. “Does this grant me access?”

Realizing what the folder contained, he smiled. “You do work fast.”

He stepped aside and she went in, her tits brushing his chest briefly before a cloud of her spicy perfume teased his nose. She handed him the folder and he took it, his hand shaking in anticipation. Even his right arm was trembling.

“Have a drink. Or anything you’d like,”  Jaime murmured, going to the couch to look at what Taena had gathered.

“Anything I’d like,” Taena murmured. “Alright.”

Jaime pulled out several sheets of paper. He heard thumps and rustles from Taena, so he assumed she was shrugging off her jacket and dropping it on the counter or a stool.

He breathed sharply as he assessed the paperwork before him. A certificate of live birth. Copy of her grades and her current registration details. There was also a sheet for her bank transactions. Taena did her job, as promised.

Brienne Jacqueline Tarth was her complete name, born to Selwyn and Alys Tarth. She was twenty-one years old. Her name rolled like silky butter on his tongue.

Taena managed to get her hands on Brienne’s school records too. She was on academic scholarship, and her grades showed it. Jaime felt strangely proud about that. He hoped her grades would take her to the future she deserved. Her two jobs ensured that. He hoped for a time when she didn’t have to work so hard just to live.

One of her bank records showed regular deposits from Adult Playground, the company that hosted the phone sex service he used. She also made withdrawals from this account, but small ones, which were then placed in the second account. This must be where she took most of her expenses.

He looked up to thank Taena for the help when his brain flatlined from the sight before him.

With a small smile on her full ruby lips, Taena undid the front clasp of her black bra, freeing her full tits. She shrugged off the delicate lacy garment with playful and sensual nonchalance before going to Jaime. She was wearing only her small black panties.

She fluffed her black hair as she approached him, tousling it some more before allowing it to fall past her shoulders. The curling tips feathered over her tits, curtaining the thrust of her small, dark nipples.

“Shit, Taena. What—” He started to say but she easily climbed on his lap, her slim, curvy thighs straddling him. She smiled fully then, a teasing, sexy smile as she cupped his jaw in her hands before biting his lower lip playfully. The papers fell from his limp hand.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. As she kissed him, she took his left hand to her breast. Fuck. That heavy, pleasing weight of her. He squeezed all too eagerly, making her whimper.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling back a little. His right arm hung useless by the arm of the chair. His stump twitched, remembering what it used to do when he had a naked woman in his arms. He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against her throat to breathe in her rich, spicy smell. He cupped her breast again. His hips thrust, his cock brushing against the damp panel of her panties.

Discovering he was flaccid, she murmured against his ear, “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

Then she kissed him again, this time coaxing his mouth to part open. She tasted of apricots and wine, and smelled so richly of sex. He remembered. The many times she had sat on his lap in his office, in this very apartment. Naked. Wanting him. Through their kiss, his hand lowered to feel her pussy.

“Can’t you tell how much I miss you?” She asked, nipping him.

He should want this. Her. He wrapped his right arm around her, pressing her closer to mouth one of her small nipples. She groaned through his hungry, rough suckling, squirming on his lap. Against his palm, her underwear went from damp to drenched.

Woman and spice, silk. A trifecta of heavenly, sensual delights that should make his head swim and his cock rise hard and eager from his pants. Instead he found himself mechanically kissing her back, his cock unresponsive despite the press of her wet pussy against it.

He could smell that thick, intimate scent of her desire. He freed her nipple from his mouth, wishing for the old fascination when he saw it swollen, and glistening from his spit. As he hesitated between the right thing to do and what he wanted, she slipped off his lap to stand between his thighs.

“Take it off, Jaime,” she said. Her eyes glittered like black gemstones.

He nodded, awkward with both stump and left hand in pulling down her panties. Gods. _Her pussy._ He stared at the small cluster of thick, curling dark hairs. Waiting for his mouth to water.

A year ago, he would have tossed her on the nearest flat surface and pushed his cock inside her.

Seeing the expectation on her face, he leaned in to tongue her clit. She gasped, grasping his head with both hands. She still tasted like cinnamon. He hugged her close, devouring her as he used to. Slammed a finger up her pussy but with his left hand. . .

“Ouch. Jaime—”She whimpered, trying to wrestle away.

He flushed, quickly pulling his finger out. His left hand wasn’t really used to it. As he started to mumble and apology, she smiled again and knelt between his thighs.

“It’s been a long time for me, Taena. Maybe—"

“Then let me help,” she offered, reaching for his belt and zipper.

“I’m not sure—”

“Hush,” she murmured, kissing his cock through his pants before pulling them down.

He had to look away, unable to deal with the shame of his flaccid cock. She pulled off his boxers, his jeans, grasped his unresponsive member and began to rub him, all while watching him with her dark, doe eyes. “Come on. I thought you liked watching me, Jaime?”

Slowly, he turned back to her, just in time to see her dark hair bend over his cock. He gritted his teeth as her warm, wet mouth covered the head, teasing it with gentle but deep suckles.

“Shit. Taena,” he groaned, feeling himself stiffen.

As her mouth advanced up and down his cock, she played with his balls. Jaime was about to pull her hair back so he could watch her when he remembered he only had one hand. He watched with growing dejection as his stump could only move pathetically through the sheaves of her hair while his left hand gripped her by the head. Her red lips parted to take more of his cock in her mouth.

_If he had both hands. . ._

Despite his growing devastation, his cock hardened and thrust deeper in her throat. Too late did he realize what was going to happen. He could only watch in shock and embarrassment as his semen squirted right on her face as she prepared to lunge between his thighs. She gasped, dropping gracelessly on her butt on the floor as his cock sprayed her on the chin, her neck, down her tits.

_“Fuck. Taena, I’m sorry.”_

Taena, clearly stunned by what happened, and so quickly, stared back at him in confusion. Jaime thought she looked pissed. But she nodded, wiped the back of her hand across her face. “You did tell me it’s been a long time.”

He could only nod, hating himself for what he’d done to her.

It should be arousing. Seeing his spunk streaking down her face, her neck. A droplet of semen dangling from her abused nipple. He should fuck her on the floor and devour her mouth. The old Jaime would have done exactly that. Instead, he could only stare at her.

“I’ll get cleaned up. We can try again.”

She got up from the floor and went to the bathroom. Jaime stared at his half-erect cock and kicked off his shoes and pants. He had no interest in fucking Taena but. . .but he could try. She was beautiful. Sexy. Gave great head. He would be mad to send her away.

Nothing about him had been right for a long time. That could change tonight.

Jaime picked up the papers from the floor, once again reading her name. _Brienne Jacqueline Tarth._ A very feminine name for someone who hardly looked like a woman. Yet her voice and her eyes drew a primal and very male response from him.

He put them back in the envelope, using his stump to flatten it on the table as he pushed the papers inside one by one. Hearing the sink switched off from from behind the door, he hurried out of his sweater and t-shirt.

Taena got out of the bathroom, once again looking at him with want in her eyes and a sure smile on her swollen lips as she went to him. Jaime met her halfway.

It should be no effort to kiss a very beautiful woman. It should not be.

But he was going to try.

Taena licked his lips then went to his bed. She spread her legs. Despite being several feet away from her, Jaime glimpsed the sheen from between her thighs.

“Watch me.” She instructed, but with a voice like velvet. She spread her legs farther apart and slowly danced a finger toward her pussy.

There was no question on what Jaime needed to do next.

******  
Jaime rubbed his lips against her open mouth, breathing sharply as her hands stroked his cock. Taking her face between hand and stump, he deepened the kiss, pressed her harder down the bed.

Taena’s silken skin. Her sure, sensuous movements. The desire in her eyes. He drank his fill of her full lips, wanting every drop of her flavor in his mouth before kissing his way down her throat.

He sniffed the perfume from her neck as he pinched her other nipple and kept pinching it as his mouth drew on the other. She moaned, thrashing against him as he raked his teeth against the dark, turgid tip. Then he moved to suckle her other nipple, his groans mixings her with cries as she caressed his hair, wrapped her legs around his waist.

He grunted softly when he fell hard on her, remembering he was missing a hand, compromising his balance. Her lips coaxing him to another kiss made him forget what he had lost. He surrendered to her kisses, rubbed his cock against her warm, supple skin. He was getting hard, but too slowly from what he knew.

Those fucking meds. As if being crippled for life was not the worst. Now he’ll have to work doubly hard to get hard. He hardened his kisses down Taena’s body, wanting to bruise, to leave his mark, show he was still himself. He swept her legs far apart. _Where_ was the tremor of anticipation that went through him, just before he dived in to feast on her wet little pussy? He _should_ be excited about fucking her with tongue again and again.

Instead, he could only place a limp little kiss on her slit.

He hated himself. He should be relentless, killing her with kisses. Slurping her pussy clean and dry. Instead, he was just tasting her. Carefully. Slowly.

But he remembered how it used to be. His hunger for a woman. His love for thrusting his tongue in a dripping cunt. The memory was torture, but it might just save him. Or at least, spare Taena’s feelings.

Using his stump to nudge her thighs even further apart, he pumped a slender finger in her pussy while sucking on her clitoris. She cried out, thighs instinctively tightening around his head before his right arm pushed one, and farther and farther with each drive of his finger in her cunt, every slide of tongue on her clit. Panting, gasping for more, Taena locked her hands on his thick blond hair.

His tongue slid from her clit down to her soaked opening. He pressed hand and stump on the backs of her thighs to keep her spread, guided by her harshening cries and gasps. He began rubbing himself against the bed. He was hard. But not as hard as he knew he could be. Still, it was something. And one he’d done on his own.

As Taena begged, he suddenly rose on his knees. He looked at her sweaty breasts, her damp hair. She was so fucking sexy, and he was all kinds of wrong to not want to fuck her desperately. He prayed she didn’t notice.

“Turn around,” he whispered.

Taena did, positioning herself on hands and knees.

She reached behind her to sweep her pussy lips open. Jaime was grateful. Taking his cock in his left hand, he pushed it inside her. Gods. She was warm. Wet.

_He could do this._

Her spine arched. _“Yes.”_

He fucked her, awkwardly looping his right arm around one of her thighs while fisting her hair in his left hand. She whimpered so he tugged her hair again, growling at her to take his cock and like it. She hissed her consent, allowing him to pull her hair back until her throat was arched.

He thrust in and out of her clinging wetness, his fist tightening on her hair, his eyes on the sweat sliding down her spine to gather at the small of her back. It brought him back to the previous night, when he had watched Brienne Tarth bent over a table while cleaning it. Her shirt had ridden up, revealing a lower back dotted with sweat that gleamed like diamonds on her pale, flushed skin.

Thinking of her, reminded of his body’s response, carried him through the growing effort of pleasuring Taena. He made no attempt to stop himself from coming two thrusts into her. All he wanted was for it to be over.

He pulled out, quickly replacing his cock with fingers. Taena squealed, in half-protest and approval, as he fucked her roughly with fingers unused to his task. She bit and clutched the pillows as her pussy rippled around his fingers. She came with a gasp, collapsing heavily on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lying down next to her. “I—It happened quickly for me again.”

Taena cuddled close to him. “There’s always next time. I understand, Jaime.”

Later, watching her sleep, Jaime found himself still waiting for that familiar, all-consuming _want._  Taena slept on her back, her black hair in snarls around her neck, over her tits. He reached out to touch her, realized it was with his right stump. Scarred, ugly, useless stump.

He turned away, himself revolted by this damaged part of him. In a way he was glad he had no desire to fuck Taena. He might hurt her rather than just himself. But he really couldn’t be with anyone tonight. At least, not the person in his bed.

He didn’t hate Taena. She was just not what he wanted.

And he didn’t even know if that person felt the same. If he even deserved her. What could someone so young want in someone so broken? What could a person who lived in the light see in someone who walked in darkness?

Jaime went to the living room to once again look at the file on Brienne Tarth. There were only papers. No photos. What he would give to see her face. She was far from attractive but he could never erase it from his mind. He was drawn. Pulled.

He wanted to shower. Wash the stain of another woman’s touch from his body, her smell. What had he done?

Jaime, finding a blanket on the couch, wrapped it around himself. He went back to the bedroom to retrieve his phone. Taena was still sleeping. Quietly, he slipped out of the apartment, through the kitchen and then the fire exit. Huddling against the wall, he pressed the speed dial function on his phone then pressed the device to his ear.

“You’ve reached Zaphyre.”

 _Brienne._ Instead, he said, “Hey. It’s me. Jaime.”

A pause. “I know. I’ll know your voice even in my sleep. I think.”

_Was last night as real to you as it was to me?_

“Do you dream of me, Zaphyre?”

She didn’t answer for a few seconds but he heard her breathing. “I—I think I do.”

What four, whispered words could do to his heart. But he still hated himself over what he’d done. Gazing at the door, thinking of Taena indisturbed in his bed, he whispered, “But I’m a nightmare come to life, Zaphyre.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t know me.” He said. “I’m a man who will never be whole again.”

“Jaime, you’re so much more than your hand. Please believe me. Jaime. . .if I were there. . .”

“Yes?” He asked, wanting to hope and feeling too scared to do so.

“I’d hold you. I will not allow you to feel that all you are was in the hand you lost. You’re—You’re a good man, Jaime. I know it’s silly because. . .well, what do we know of each other? But. . .But I just know. I know, Jaime. You’ve lost a hand. Just a hand. You’re still you. I believe that.”

Jaime sighed heavily. “I’ve been looking for pieces of myself I’ve lost in the wrongest of places. And there’s no way I can pull myself out of what ditch I’ve crawled into. Or swamp.”

“Talk to me, Jaime. What happened? What can I do? What do you need?”

He stared in the night, clutching the phone. His right arm twitched. “I need to look into your eyes, Zaphyre. Your beautiful, sapphire eyes. And know how every freckle on your face feels under my hand.”

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been brought to my attention that there's a WIP fic that appears to have quite a number of similarities to a collaboration I did a while back. While we would like to give the writer the benefit of the doubt, it is sad and disappointing how this fandom seems to experience an increased frequency in possible plagiarized works. 
> 
> I would like to implore writers that while there is no crime in being inspired by another's work, inspiration should push you to create original stories. Understand that writers work very hard to create and craft a world and characters, whether they be mainstream fiction or fan fiction. It's the same effort poured into a work that comes from love of characters and writing itself.
> 
> *I'll be out of town for a few days, guys! So it will take time for me to reply to your lovely comments. Hope I don't keep you waiting long!


	5. Dreamed to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their voices were the only bridge to what they had.

 

_A few hours before Jaime’s call_

Since school was pretty much moot for the day for Brienne, Margaery decided to skip her last class too and spend time with her. They splurged on pizza, ordering the double pepperoni special rather than the usual plain cheese. Margaery went to her apartment to get the bottle of “decent enough” wine of which only half remained.

While waiting for the pizza, Brienne fixed up the apartment. She righted the books in the shelves—carelessly piled there after Tormund had tossed them to the floor in his anger—by arranging them the authors alphabetically. Next, she looked in the closet for fresh sheets and pillow cases on the bed.

She came close to dying from embarrassment after Margaery remarked on smell of sex in the apartment. Understandable _if_ she had been fucking someone. As she also panicked from the prospect of telling Margaery exactly what had happened, her best friend gave her a pat on the back and just kissed her on the cheek. No questions were asked.

She sprayed a scent called Breezy Summer around the apartment and opened a window to let the air in. She had just finished when Margaery returned armed with the wine and a basket of goodies—nail polish, foot scrubs and some oils.

Brienne cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing with those?”

“You haven’t been taking good care of yourself. Granted, it’s a little difficult with the money situation—I know that pretty well too, don’t forget,” Margaery said, dragging one of the chairs from under the dining table toward the bed. “But it doesn’t mean it’s completely inaccessible.”

“Marge, I don’t know. I’m not comfortable with anyone touching me like. . .you know I have very ticklish feet!” Brienne exclaimed.

“Oh, do I know. And it’s adorable!” Margaery assured her, winking. “Come on.”

Brienne stared at the small collection of nail polish and shrugged. “If we’re talking about self-care, I’d much rather have a bath first. I had a shower earlier but I won’t mind a bath. Haven’t had one in ages.”

“Bath it is, then! We haven’t done those for a long time,” Margaery said, clapping her hands. “And let’s take the pizza there. So decadent, don’t you think so?”

Brienne smiled, pleased that her suggestion was accepted. Just then, the pizza arrived. She pointed Marge to the ceramic golden lion on her nightstand, where she kept some money. As Marge answered the door, Brienne went to the bathroom to start a bath.

As tiny as her apartment was, the bathroom had the unexpected luxury of a bathtub. The shower was above it, give the limited space. Brienne could not completely stretch out in the tub because of her height and build but loved having baths here, nonetheless. For half an hour, she could shut off the world and just relax. No book to read. No text message to answer.

And best of all, no one to encroach on her personal time.

Marge didn’t have a tub in her bathroom and missed the experience of a bath in one. Sometimes, the two best friends shared the bath, each sitting on opposite ends of the tub. Marge fit perfectly while Brienne had to adjust a bit, so she was still comfortable in the limited space.

As water filled the tub, Brienne looked in the cabinet for her favorite bath products. No matter how financially challenged she got sometimes, she always made sure to have her favorite scents, Vanilla Pop and Caramel Surprise.

Sure enough they were in the designated shelf, half-full. Brienne stared at the bottles, suddenly feeling herself go warm from memories of nights wrapped in husky whispers and cries. When Margaery popped in to announce the pizza was ready to be devoured, she found Brienne sitting at the edge of the tub, the two bottles in her hands.

“You okay, Bree?”

Brienne sighed and looked at her. Her cheeks were pink and the expression on her face unsure and confused. “Brienne? Hey?”

“What,” she began, frowning as she sieved through the right words to say, “I mean. . .has—has—Tormund—“his name was hard to say. “Has he said anything?”

Sensing that she was about to drop a potential bombshell, Margaery entered the bathroom and switched off the tap. She closed the toilet set and sat down, looking at her.

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with.”

“Marge. Come on.”

Margaery sighed. “It’s not worth it.”

“If he’s said anything nasty, I can take it. It’s nothing new, in connection to him.” Brienne muttered, remembering one of the last fights they had. She slid from the edge of the tub to sit on the floor, cradling the bottles of bubble bath on her lap.

Margaery frowned. “What do you mean it’s nothing new with him?”

“Just leave it.”

“Look, if he’s called you names—”

“That’s not the issue and I don’t care what he’s said to me or said behind my back. I know what I did. But I need to know if. . .he’s mentioned other things. Margaery,” Brienne implored, more firmly now. “Tell me.”

“I don’t believe him, okay? He doesn’t know you.”

“What is it?” Brienne tried to hide her impatience.

Margaery looked at her. “He said you cheated on him. That when he walked out here, the guy was right there calling you on the phone.”

Brienne sighed and looked at her lap.

“See? That’s why I don’t want to tell you. It’s a shit bag of lies.”

Brienne hugged the bottles. “He’s not exactly lying.”

“W-What?” Margaery asked softly, blinking at her. “He’s not—Brienne, _what?_ ”

There was no going back.

 

*******  
“Hollard’s isn’t the only job I have. You know a few months back, when some gang members attacked the convenience store where I worked? The second time? I quit.” Brienne bit a huge portion of the pizza in her hand as she spoke. Chewing quickly, she added, “There’s no way I can pay for this shitty apartment working only at Hollard’s.”

“So, you found new employment,” Margaery supplied.

Her midnight interludes with Jaime were getting more difficult to keep to herself. Not because she needed to share with someone the thrill of it but she was desperate to unpack it before an objective party, for someone to tell her that she had gone over the edge and needed to be reeled back.

For what sane person in her line of work not gets off for real to a caller but also develops feelings for him? _And_ fantasizing that the caller was some hot stranger in the bar just because he also happened to have a prosthetic?

“I needed a job where I wouldn’t be in another graveyard shift or stuck behind a counter. And a job that paid well—I really want to visit Dad, Marge.”

“There’s no harm in that. But where does this. . .this possible cheating come in?” Margaery, noticing her glass was only half-full now, refilled it with wine.

Now. For the hard part.

“I found a job. It paid well. I didn’t have to commute late in the night. Plus I could study too, while doing it.”

“Oh. A bookstore?”

Brienne shook her head.

“Babysitting?”

“No.” Brienne took the bottle and poured herself a full glass of the wine. Then she grabbed the glass and glugged the rich beverage down her throat like soda. Margaery, who had been about to take a sip from her glass, watched with horrified fascination.

Brienne slammed the glass down. She felt like drowning. It felt like her brain was about to short-circuit. She coughed, to relieve the sudden pressure in her chest from the sudden deluge of wine. Her head seemed to swim.

“I work as a phone sex operator.”

Margaery stared at her and this time gulped down her wine. It went down wrong and she ended up coughing violently. As Brienne scrambled to get her water, she blurted out, “Did you say you work as a phone sex operator?”

“I know. It’s. . .it’s the weirdest job there is. But I promise most of my callers are just lonely guys who need someone to listen to them.”

Brienne got a glass and switched on the tap. Then she brought it to Margaery, who swigged it again in one gulp.

“Marge? Are you judging me?” She asked, genuinely worried.

“No!” Margaery exclaimed, putting the glass away. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she added, “No, I can’t judge you for that, Brienne. But. . .but said you’re probably cheating. Is it with one of your callers?”

Brienne closed her eyes and nodded.

“Oh, holy fucking gods. Brienne. You’re not fucking with me, are you?”

“No. But I am kind of fucking a regular client through the phone.” Brienne spoke one word at a time. Her own voice sounded wooden, hollow to her ear. She opened her eyes and found Margaery scratching her head.

“A regular client?”

“He says his name is Jaime.”

“You’ve. . .” Margaery rubbed her eyes. “You’ve been with him? This Jaime?”

“Well, just over the phone.” Brienne pulled at the collar of her top to relieve the warmth growing around it. Her face was burning too, from the wine. “I mean, most of the time it’s nothing. We talk about music. The inexplicable popularity of avocado toast.”

“You said you work as a phone sex operator.”

“It’s not always about telling my callers I lounge in nothing but a G-string, Marge. I told you. Most of them just need someone to listen. They’re dads who can’t get it up for their wives. As well as dads who want to fuck their wives but are terrified those women will leave them because he has unconventional wants. Single guys. Confused guys. Since I’ve started working, there’s really only been one sicko and he’s never called me again.”

“And this Jaime—”

“Oh, gods. Jaime.” Brienne sighed, suddenly rising from the chair to pace. “He’s a really good guy. I can tell. I swear to you, he is. He—he lost his hand in an accident a year ago and he’s been kind of floundering since. But he’s such a good listener, Marge. And a good, good guy. We both have dads who sort of abandoned—”

“You talked to a guy over a phone sex line about your father? And his father?”

Brienne paused. Seeing the disbelief on Margaery’s face, she muttered, “You’re judging.”

“I’m trying to make sense of this, Brienne. Looking at you now—you’re rattled but you also look like a rocket about to take off, there _is_ something with this guy!”

Brienne’s ears burned. “Oh, shit. You think so?”

“No wonder Tormund’s pissed.”

“The fuck I care about Tormund. It’s not like I meant to! And—and—and I told Tormund I made a mistake! And before that I kept reminding him we were just going to fuck and no more!”

“Calm down.” Margaery went to her, putting her small hands on Brienne’s trembling shoulders to ease her back on the chair. “I’m not judging, Brienne. But I’m worried. You’re like. . .you’ve come unglued over some guy you met in the weirdest circumstances, to say the least. You _care_ for him.”

“It just happened,” Brienne said with a groan.

“Sweetheart, no one’s blaming you.” Margaery said, caressing her cheek and kissing her on the forehead. “I’m just. . .I’m concerned. How sure are you his name is even Jaime? And he’s been telling you the truth?”

Brienne didn’t want to tell her that the guy she bumped into last night might have been her Jaime. At least, the Jaime who had come to her broken and hopeless. There was a strong chance it was all wishful thinking. Who didn’t want a face carved by the Seven to go with his sexy drawl?

“I _know_ he is.”

Margaery sat back down, looking at her worriedly.

“That’s not all,” Brienne mumbled.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve actually seen each other but with masks and fucked in an alley somewhere and you’re now pregnant and can’t identify the father.”

“Nothing like that. But. . .I did cross the line, Marge. Last night.”

“You crossed the line? How---you’ve never met?”

“No. Everything is through the phone. We’ve never even chatted online or through Skype.”

“Then how could you have--- _oh_.” Margaery’s face cleared as Brienne visibly reddened. “Oh. That’s what you mean. You—”

“Last night was real to me. And I’ve been hating myself hoping that it was real for him too.”

Now that she’d said it, she finally realized how pathetic she was. She groaned again and dropped her head between her arms.

A few seconds later, Margaery tapped her on the shoulder. Brienne looked up and saw the wine bottle thrust toward her. She sighed and Margaery nodded, pushing the bottle closer to her.

Wearily, she took the bottle and drank.

**********  
Olyvar returned early this morning so Brienne didn’t have to pull another double shift. She hurried through it, tensed and worried about what she’d told Margaery. Her second job didn’t embarrass her. It was what had happened last night.

Yet her eyes kept darting to the booth where the handsome man with the prosthetic hand and his dwarf companion had sat. She had never seen either of them before but swung between hope and dread for his return. To think he was unlikely to be her Jaime Midnight!

That name had some ring to it.

 _Damn it_.

Hating how distracted she was getting, Brienne soldiered through the remaining hours of the shift. Let herself be swept up by the tide of orders of nachos, burgers, sodas. Water refills. Coffee. Mopped the floor during a spill. Cleared tables. Her mind was so sunk in work that Shae had to call her attention a few times to say she was off the clock.

Back in her apartment, Brienne began undressing as soon as she was inside. Her jacket and t-shirt were the first to fall. Sneakers toed off followed by socks. She undid her pants and stepped out of them. She walked naked to the fridge, her nipples hardening and her pubic hairs stirring from the ice-cold blast when she opened it to get a drink.

She brought the soda can to the bathroom with her. The tub was ankle-deep with the water that was going to be used previously and was now cold. She drained it then switched on the taps again. As water gushed down, she got the bottle of Caramel Surprise from the shelf.

She poured it into the water, then swished the mixture with her hand. Hours lay between now and Jaime’s next call, if he will still call. That gave her a pause.

_What if he never calls? Again?_

It should not devastate her. He was a client. A stranger. She should try remembering that rather than dreaming about a damaged cripple with beautiful emerald eyes. She should quit trying to form a picture of the voice that strummed the deepest melody within her even in sleep. Jaime. Or whatever his name was.

She should not have gotten carried away.

She shouldn’t have _cared._

 

_That night_

The bath, her sanctuary from the world, became an echo chamber of her quiet sobbing. The warmth of the sweetly-scented bubble water, an embrace in which she would imagine herself safely floating away from hardship, was suddenly too liquid, too much and also not enough.

She couldn’t under why she cared for a person she’s never met. Or how she had convinced herself in believing she knew a stranger when all she had was a list of facts and that she’d recognize his drawl even in sleep.

She didn’t understand why she felt so. . . _drawn_ to him. That along with the fear that he will never call was also the hope that he would, as he had been doing these last five months.

And as embarrassing as last night had been, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. _It felt right._ She _knew_ she was with someone. Not once did she feel cut off, or some specter just watching things happening to her. She was there. And she knew, knew in her heart that Jaime had been there too. He hadn’t given her instructions to fuck with her so cruelly. He wanted to do those things with her, to her.

Their voices were the only bridge to what they had. Whatever this was.

Brienne got out of the bath, toweling herself dry and washing her face at the sink. A throbbing promising to be a walloping migraine began between her ears. She blew her nose into several tissues, looking at her swollen eyes and flushed, tear-stained face in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

She heated water in a kettle. While waiting, she threw on her flannel robe. Rather than refreshed and relaxed, she felt tired, and her head was heavy. As soon as the kettle whistled, she got one of the cup noodles from the cupboard, tore open the packets holding flavoring and other spices then poured hot water in.

She got her laptop and turned it on. Hoping she had paid the previous bill, she clicked the Varysflix app to log in.

Some mindless television series to get lost in, and noodles. Brienne popped some aspirin, chased it with one of the sodas from the fridge then curled up in bed. She put the laptop in front of her so she could watch lying down. The noodles she cradled close to her heart.

She had no idea when she passed out. It seemed only a moment had passed since she’d curled up in bed and began slurping the noodles. Now she sat up, very clear-headed. The series she was binge-watching was still on. The cup of noodles was empty and the fork was under her elbow.

And there was something ringing.

_Jaime._

The laptop almost got knocked off the bed as she dived for the phone. “You’ve reached Zaphyre.”

Shit. She sounded. . .hopeful. Desperate. _Fuck._

She did not know she was holding her breath until he spoke.

“Hey. It’s me. Jaime.”

The strength was drained from her. She fell on the bed. “I know.” Chewing her lip, she added, “I’ll know your voice even in my sleep. I think.”

_Tell me I’m not alone in this. Last night was as real to you as it was to me. Please._

“Do you dream of me, Zaphyre?”

 _You’re not just in my dreams. You’re in me._ Heart racing, she whispered, “I—I think I do.”

“But I’m a nightmare come to life, Zaphyre.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t know me. I’m a man who will never be whole again.”

She was about to speak when it hit her why she was do drawn to him.

They were both broken people. And broken so painfully despite the different circumstances. She did not fill in for the pieces he had lost. But she knew, she understood what he will never regain. Through this they were slowly becoming fused to each other.

“Jaime, you’re so much more than your hand. Please believe me.” She found herself begging. “Jaime. . .if I were there. . .”

She should stop. Save herself.

She did not want to.

“Yes?” He asked.

“I’d hold you. I will not allow you to feel that all you are was in the hand you lost. You’re—You’re a good man, Jaime. I know it’s silly because. . .well, what do we know of each other? But. . .But I just know. I know, Jaime. You’ve lost a hand. Just a hand. You’re still you. I believe that.”

Jaime sighed heavily. “I’ve been looking for pieces of myself I’ve lost in the wrongest of places. And there’s no way I can pull myself out of what ditch I’ve crawled into. Or swamp.”

“Talk to me, Jaime. What happened? What can I do? What do you need?” She was beginning to worry now. He had never been like this.

It was a several seconds of hearing him breathe before he spoke.

“I need to look into your eyes, Zaphyre. Your beautiful, sapphire eyes. And know how every freckle on your face feels under my hand.”

Brienne, about to respond once again, suddenly froze. Blinking rapidly, she stared at the phone.

“Jaime,” she managed to say. Her voice sounded far away. “How do you know I have freckles?”

It seemed the question was the key to more. There was almost a literal click, like a latch being loosened, as she remembered something he’d told her the previous night.

_You smell so fucking good, Brienne. A treat. Just for me. So fucking wet._

“And you called me by my name. . .” she said slowly. Her heart was racing again, but not from fear or anxiety. “Jaime. You called me by name. Last night. It’s all coming back to me. You did, didn’t you?”

She didn’t know she was squeezing the phone so hard until he answered.

“Yes.” A pause. “Yes, I did. Brienne.”

As she digested this, he suddenly begged, “Gods. Please, don’t hang up. I can’t. . .I can’t have you scared of me. I can’t lose you, Brienne. Please. Let me explain.”

She was glad she was lying down. She’d have fallen on her head had she been on her feet during his revelation. “Alright, Jaime. Tell me how.”

“The diner. The Dornishman. I think. . .last Friday. I was there. I—I heard you laugh.”

Friday. Just a few days ago. She remembered trying to carry on as if things were normal. She and Tormund laughing along with Renly and Margaery to cover up the growing cracks in their affair.

“I remembered your laugh from our conversations, Brienne. So when I heard you at the diner. . .I looked.”

He had seen her.

“I saw you. I couldn’t believe it. I never thought you could be real.”

She didn’t understand why it was the nicest thing she had heard someone say about her.

“But how did you know my name?”

“I asked one of the waitresses. And then. . .” Jaime grunted. “I know how awful the next things I’ll be saying will make me look. But I swear to you I never planned it. I never stalked you, Brienne.”

“If you haven’t been following me and only knew my name—”

“My name is Jaime Lannister, Brienne. I was an assistant prosecutor until a year ago. You can look me up. I’m on sabbatical right now. But I still have connections. Connections I used to find out more about you.”

“What—what do you know?”

“Just more about you. That’s it. I know you’re a student at Westeros University. I know where you’re from. I only found out about these hours ago, Brienne. I was going to throw them away. There’s no excuse for what I did but I was desperate. And—and I saw you for the second time last night. At Hollard’s.”

_No. He couldn’t be---_

“I was there with my brother last night. Like I told you, he took me out to celebrate my fucking prosthetic.”

“Tell me about your brother.” Brienne said to him. “Describe him for me. What he looks like.”

“My brother? Tyrion. . .he’s. . .he’s a dwarf.”

For the second time that night, Brienne was glad she was lying down.

“I did see you,” she gasped. “I almost—”

“Yes. You did. I was an asshole. I didn’t expect . . .”

“It’s really you. You’re Jaime. _My Jaime_.” She couldn’t believe it. “You’re real. All of you.”

Her head was beginning to hurt again from the truckload of truth being unloaded.

“Not all of me, I’m afraid. Ninety-nine percent, more like.”

“You’ve lost a hand, Jaime. Not you.”

In spite of what he’d just told her, she wished it was possible to touch him. To hold him where he hurt and kiss him until it was over.

No more was said for ten second. Then twenty. A full minute. Brienne rubbed her chest. Her heart rate had slowed down to its usual rhythm, but she was still light-headed from everything she had found in the last ten minutes. Jaime seemed to be gathering himself too.

There was some strange assurance that he was a little rattled himself. That like her he was clueless with the next step. And also waiting for her to say something. Anything.

He knew her. They had seen each other.

He was a dream she had been quite terrified to even imagine and now. . .he was real. She had touched him. Spoken to him. Wanted him. Longed to kiss and hold him, keep him together during the moments he felt himself going to pieces.

She did not wish to complete him. She just wanted to be with him.

“Brienne.” Her name was a whisper but edged with the graveled sound of intimacy. The tone of a lover.

“Yes. . .Jaime?” There was relief in saying his name, now that she knew he wasn’t just a voice.

“Do you. . .can we. . .Would it be too much to ask to see each other? I can understand if you don’t want to, given what I just did. And I won’t call you again after tonight if you want—”

“No.” Shocked by what he was offering, she sat up, shaking her head vehemently. “Jaime, don’t. Don’t—I can’t. . .please. I don’t. . .” She hung her head, trembling.

“Brienne? Are you okay? Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to stop calling me, Jaime. Please don’t.” She sounded so fucking pathetic. but it was the truth. No way could she go back to the life she had before he started calling her.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want. I’ll never do anything that could hurt you.”

She lay back on the bed, clutching the phone to her ear.

“Would you. . .” Words seem a struggle for him. “Would you want us to meet?”

“You—really?”

“If it’s alright with you. Name the time and place, Brienne. Bring a friend or two. I just. . .you can do whatever you want. Just. . .just let me see you.”

See Jaime. See him knowing who he was, what he’d said to her. How he’d asked her to touch herself. To see Jaime, the man that sweetened her dreams and warmed her nights.

“So. . .can I see you, Brienne?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason this chapter doesn't take off immediately from the cliffhanger of the previous update is I wanted to get into Brienne's mindset prior to Jaime's call. I also felt it was important to see Brienne's day, paralleled with Jaime's--think of it as two different scenes in separate panels on screen. 
> 
> If I went directly to the follow-up to the call, it would require several flashbacks. I'm not a big fan of flashbacks. They must be doled out sparingly. Otherwise it's lazy storytelling and you don't trust your readers enough to fill in the blanks. 
> 
> Regarding Jaime's admission that he had looked up information about Brienne, I wanted that revealed right away. When this prompt was given to me, my biggest worry, aside from the angst (let's face it, I can never do it right) was how easily this story can turn into a stalking fic. Stalking is simply never romantic. While Jaime does that a bit in an earlier chapter, for the rest of the story, he had to resort to resources in order to find Brienne. And also coincidences, as you'll see later.
> 
> Another reason I wanted him to admit right away that he had information about her was I wanted to do without the shocker of Brienne finding out about a dossier and thinking he had manipulated her. Too many stories have been like that and it's tired, tired, tired. While there are no more new stories, I believe there are may ways to tell them in a new and different way. I'm not saying I'm doing anything groundbreaking (I wish) but I like to examine what has been written in a particular genre, or fandom, for example, explore what silence remains and then make noise. 
> 
> Besides, the point of this story is not about Jaime nor Brienne compiling facts about each other. It's about two lonely people finding each other, realizing and accepting their brokenness yet are more complete persons because of it. 
> 
> And of course, fucking. :-) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Sorry for rambling.


	6. Taste of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe with the wrong man, it was nothing. With the right man. . .it was everything.

 

“You’re still a fucking cheapskate,” Bronn complained, holding out the tan sports jacket behind Jaime. “You can always buy a new jacket. Or have one tailored for you. Give your best friend a fucking commission. Careful, now.”

Standing on a round platform in the middle of Blackwater Tailoring & Alterations, Jaime slipped his arms through the sleeves. With his flesh hand and Bronn’s assistance, he patted the collar, flattened the body of the tweed material so it settled properly on his chest. Both men watched themselves in the mirror as they did the necessary tweaks. Then Bronn stepped back. Jaime lowered his arm, his eyes quickly dropping to the empty space below the right sleeve.

“What do you know,” Bronn said, nodding. “It looks good on you. How does it feel?”

Jaime shifted his gaze to his image in the mirror. “Feels like I’m missing a hand.”

Bronn glanced at the prosthetic on the chair, and the other accessories Jaime had to wear with it. “You should keep practicing with that. How long has it been—five days, four days?”

“I don’t like it. It feels wrong and people stare.” Jaime said, turning around in the mirror. He rotated his shoulders.

Staring at him, Bronn asked, “Too tight?”

“No. It’s okay.”

“I didn’t have to do much,” Bronn explained, walking around him and inspecting the coat critically. “Your shoulders are pretty much the same, but your chest has widened by two inches. I also adjusted around the waist, like you asked. But I didn’t do much either.”

“That’s surprising. I haven’t exactly been going to the gym. Just walking around.” Jaime pulled the coat closed, trying to button it. He saw Bronn look pointedly at the prosthetic in the mirror.

“You don’t want Cersei and Tyrion upset you’re not using the hand. Come on. Let’s see it with the—”

The door of the shop suddenly banged open, making them jump. As Jaime’s heart slammed in his chest, Bronn sighed loudly and looked exasperatedly at someone behind his shoulder.

“You okay there, Tormund?”

Jaime glanced at his right just as someone tall with unruly red hair stomped past. “No,” came the mutter.

Whatever it was, it remained hunched as it entered another room, slamming the door. Jaime looked at Bronn.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Idiot cunt got dumped by his girlfriend.” Bronn replied, pulling the jacket off him. “Put the hand on, Jaime. I need to see that the arm fits okay around it.”

Jaime got down from the platform to retrieve his hand from the armchair. As he wrapped the protective cloth around his stump, he remarked, “You should warn his surly ass about behavior at work. Leave the broken heart at home, you know.”

“He’s a good employee. It’s not like neither of us know how it is to be dumped. Well, you wouldn’t.” But Bronn said this with a quick grin, followed by a proud pat of the receding hairline leading and dark hair. Jaime smirked and continued putting the hand back on.

“Still annoying. And rude.”

“He can keep it together. Don’t worry about him. He’s never been late nor sick. Hasn’t done anything unbelievably stupid. Let’s get this on you again.” Bronn held out the jacket. Jaime returned to the platform.

Bronn helped him put the jacket back on, sliding the right sleeve carefully down the hand then toward the rest of his arm. With the right hand, Jaime used the fingers to nudge the holes open so his left could slip the buttons through them.

“This feels great,” he told Bronn, inspecting the fit of the newly-altered jacket on his body. “It’s excellent, actually.”

“It should.” Bronn said. “But invest in a new suit, Jaime. Come on. Just because you’re on sabbatical doesn’t mean you gotta look like a slob. You have to start updating your wardrobe.”

Jaime clamped his lips from telling him he wasn’t sure about the necessity of buying new suits. Instead, he started taking off the coat to try on another. Bronn took a deep navy coat from the rack, another one he’d been asked to alter.

“Care to tell me why you’re having me work on these if you’re not going back to work anytime soon?” He asked, holding it out for Jaime to push his arms through the sleeves again. The fingers of the prosthetic got snagged on the cuff, halting the progress. As he hissed, Bronn continued pulling it on him before going for the sewing box. He retrieved a pin cushion.

Jaime watched him carefully fold the cuff back inside then use two pins to keep it in place. Bronn glanced at him as he finished. “You lost your hearing too?”

“No.  I don’t see any reason why I have to tell you.” He answered as he was helped out of the jacket.

“You’re still an ass. Good to know.” Bronn remarked. He took the jacket, “Just hang tight. I won’t be long.”

Jaime pulled it off then stepped down from the platfom just as Bronn’s red-haired employee emerged from the room. The younger man did look pissed. He clearly still carried a torch for his ex.

“Tormund, see to it the suits I put in the sewing room are pressed crisp, will you?” Bronn ordered him. “Clients are picking them up today.”

“Sure. No problem.” Tormund muttered. Then he disappeared in that room too, closing the door softly behind him this time.

“You know his girl? His ex?” Jaime asked as Bronn sat down with the navy jacket on his lap. He reached in the sewing box for needle and thread.

 “Nah. Never met her. I’m sure he’s mentioned her a few times, but I don’t give a fuck.  She must be one hell of a lay. The kid would have stars in his eyes for days sometimes. Can’t say I don’t envy him for that. Remember when we were green boys but could fuck like rabbits? Ah, I miss those days.” Bronn said, chuckling as he sewed.

Jaime bowed his head to hide the warmth spreading across his cheeks. Brienne was twenty-one and he thirty-five. Besides the age difference, a world of experience lay between them. What did a cripple have to offer someone so young and just on the threshold of life?

And given her age, she probably only knew relentless, jackrabbit fucking too. He wasn’t too disappointed in that. But he did worry about his stamina.

A rational man would never do what he’d done—grown attached to what was the equivalent of a digital whore, searched for her, requested to see her. He should be thinking about what was going to happen to him next. In four months, his sabbatical was over. The D.A. Barristan Selmy had sent him three emails so far, hinting that he was missed and needed to return earlier, if possible.

Response eluded Jaime. Nor did he have a glimpse of a shadow of any answer.

Only one thing he was sure about: to see with his own eyes the woman that had helped him through the long, dark nights of hellish pain and desolation. To call her by her name, to her face.

She had awakened him in so many ways he couldn’t name and had no name. All he knew was the irresistible force that pulled him to her. There were still days he wished he would die. But that would mean no more nights of her deep, husky voice in his ear. And now that he knew who she really was, no sapphire eyes.

Seven hells was not being apart from those eyes. It was the torment of the memories from glimpsing her gorgeous blues in a crowded, smoky bar. Fleeting but enough to remember.

Since the night he revealed he knew who she was, sunrise was no longer dreaded. He almost welcomed the pain shooting up his right arm. It meant he was alive. Another day closer to seeing her.

He hoped to the Seven that if. . .if Brienne would be carnally inclined, he didn’t fuck up as with Taena. Taena, bless her, had been a good sport. She’d given him a sexy little kiss before leaving. When she left, Jaime knew he was never fucking her again. Or even look at her with anything close to lust. Not when he was going to see Brienne at last.

She told him to meet her for coffee at Rose Café. He knew the place. It was a private garden converted into an outdoor café, with glass-topped metal tables with skinny, spindly legs, and equally delicate but sturdy chairs.

“Come on,” Bronn refused to stop prompting him. “Who’s got you wanting to dress up all of a sudden? And finally. This is the one time your good looks don’t help you at all, Jaime.”

Jaime crossed his arms. “There is someone. But it’s too soon.”  He said the last sentence softly.

Bronn looked at him thoughtfully. Jaime shrugged then looked away.

“She must be something, Jaime.”

“She really is.”

Bronn looked at him from head to toe, frowning.

“What the fuck now?”  Jaime demanded.

“You should think about getting a haircut and a shave. You’re beginning to look like a bear.” 

 

******  
Over the weekend, Brienne worked on a paper for class, raiding the library for additional research before making notes. She also studied for an upcoming test, memorizing from note cards and giving the supplementary reading materials a quick read. In order to concentrate fully on her schoolwork, she signed off from the phone sex service. But she kept her shift at Hollard’s, since she would be taking a few days off when she visited her dad.

Various activities were juggled. As her clothes spun in one of the machines in the laundromat, she kept her nose in the textbook while chewing on a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Drowning out the chatter from other customers and the soft groans from working machines were a challenge out but she did it. She kept reading while getting her clothes from the dryer a while later, until it hit her that she’d completely forgotten to bring her dirty panties with her. To think she’d put them all in a bag for efficient washing in the machine!

The laundromat got extra crowded in the weekends and she didn’t want to waste time washing her delicates there. She had no choice but to go commando for a few more days.

Brienne was a good student. She was focused and worked hard. She never struggled with academics but for the first time, she was undergoing a serious problem.

Since agreeing to meet Jaime, she had to work doubly hard to concentrate on every single task in a day. It didn’t help that when she looked him up online, she was once again reminded of how handsome he was.  Discovering he was brave did not help. A public prosecutor who freed the streets of crime without fear despite the threats to his life. When before she just respected him, now she truly admired him.

And that was what made concentrating so hard. He was handsome, smart, honorable. It was hard not to imagine how he might touch her in the shower. Or to think the ice cream cone she treated herself with after spending Saturday in the library was his cock. She had no idea how. . _.graphically_ she was eating it until the subway train came to a stop. That was when she noticed the amused stares from passengers.

She had to stuff her brain with every information available in connection to her paper and exam until it pinged, thinking it would tire her. Nope. In bed was more restlessness. Tossing and turning, eyes shut tightly, she saw his face: his tousled golden hair just about to brush his shoulders, his tired but beautiful emerald eyes, the scruffy beard that made her squeeze her thighs closed. Sleep was intermittent; in dreams he asked her to touch herself, to let him watch. She drooled from just imagining herself swallowing his cock.

She woke up tired and annoyed, with an ache in her breasts and a sticky cunt.

She hoped these would abate by Monday. Instead, her distraction grew worse. So, she woke up on Monday, the day for the submission of her paper and an exam, sweaty and tired from dreams of being chased by a naked and massively aroused Jaime.

The warm spray of the shower was too much for her sudden sensitive skin too. She hurried through it, brushed her teeth, then practically ran out of the bathroom.

Because she had done laundry, she now had more clothes to choose from. In principle. Her two jobs just about covered rent and food, utilities and her everyday expenses. There was not much room for impulse purchases like nicer sweaters or a more expensive pair of pants. She never forgot that today was also the first time she would be really seeing Jaime. But it had never entered her mind to get something, well, _lovely._

In the back of her closet, she found a casual, deep navy denim dress. She had no idea when she bought it, nor if she had ever worn it. There were no tags attached anymore. The shoulder also had a fine coating of dust.

Through the mirror, she watched herself slip her arms into the sleeves. She straightened the open panels of the dress over her bare tits before closing them with buttons. Because it ended just above the knee, she was not worried about flashing anyone should she bend over, or when sitting down. She paired the dress with flats.

Vivid blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror, peering at the flat top of her thin, lifeless bob. Straw-colored rather than actual blond, she thought, fluffing it for some lift. Her face was not pale but blotchy. She rolled the sleeves all the way to her elbows, sighing at the sight of her freckles. They covered her from forehead to legs and increased the warmer the weather—such as now.

She had long made peace with her ugliness. Unremarkable was being generous. Plain was a compliment. But that old wish that she thought was long dead and buried came crawling back: if only she were attractive. She was not even aiming to look like a goddess. But maybe her nose could be small and straight. Her lips not too thick. Her teeth small and even. Hell, maybe she could actually have boobs. Or be ten inches shorter.

But this was her body and face. And despite the glaring absence of any semblance of good looks, Jaime wanted to see her. She knew deep in her heart he did feel something true for her. He was not after her because he wanted to know how it was to fuck someone who looked like a freak. He was. . .she was _sure_ his interest was more than that.

She got her backpack and made her way out of the apartment. The elevator was once again out of order, so she took the stairs, joining the other residents trudging down and looking pissed. When she opened the double doors leading outside, a strong gust of wind blew, blowing her skirt up. She squeaked, quickly slamming her palms on her thighs to flatten it. The wind whipped her hair to her face, blocking her sight.

“Is there a storm or something?” She asked a guy who was slipping out of the building, his hand over his eyes to protect it from dirt the wind might carry.

“No idea! Shitty wind,” He complained before climbing down the stairs leading to the sidewalk.

She looked at her watch. There was no time to change. Her exam was in fifteen minutes. The walk to the school was ten.

Grunting a curse to the gods, Brienne, clutching her skirt, took the first step down.

So much for attempting to look lovely. It would never be for her.

 

*******  
In the afternoon, the weather cleared. Brienne was feeling better after a challenging morning. Professor Seaworth said he looked forward to reading her paper. Then with her exam under Professor Mormont, she was sure she had aced it.

Margaery was waiting for her at the marble fountain between Stark Hall and Kings Tower. Her light brown hair hung in soft waves down her shoulders. Though dressed in only a t-shirt, faded jeans and old sneakers, she looked gorgeous. Brienne wanted to hate her.

“Hey!” Margaery exclaimed upon seeing her. She smiled and nodded at her outfit. “You should show your legs more. I like you in a dress.”

Brienne blushed and mumbled, “Thanks.”

Noticing her fumbling with the straps of her backpack, Margaery put a hand on her shoulder. “Bree, it will be okay. I’ll be there. You have nothing to worry about.”

Brienne nodded but said no more. She wasn’t worried about Jaime turning out to be a serial killer.

What made her anxious was how, despite knowing who he was and what he looked like, it still felt like she was going in blind. What if they had nothing to talk about? What if he only liked her as. . .well, what if he preferred that she remain on the phone?

She had been floored when he asked to meet. She had been shocked with what he knew about her. She should be angry and threaten to sue him but could not look past the fact that he had been honest about it. How many men would be that upfront? This was why she was sure she could trust him.

They would be meeting at the Rose Café. Margaery had a shift there today as a waitress, so she could watch over her friend yet give her space too.

They left school and took the subway. Margaery, noticing her anxiety, tried to distract her with chatter about the classes they shared and about her last date with Renly. Brienne was grateful but for the life of her, simply could not be focused enough to actually participate in the conversation. Her mind, now clear of facts and analyses for her paper and exam, was again clouded with images and thoughts of Jaime. She was warm and tingly thinking how it would be to touch him. If they progressed to that.

Since the café didn’t require reservations, Brienne was able to choose a table. Margaery made sure she was okay first before going to the back to change into her uniform.

She liked Rose Café. She was not a big fan of flowers and gardens, but she liked the al fresco set-up. Being out in the sun reminded her of Tarth.

She looked at her watch. Okay, so she was. . .five minutes early. As she should be. She hated having people wait. At least, by being first, she had time to get settled in and calm down. The latter was going to be another challenge. Because of her anxiety over this meeting, and her exam, she had skipped lunch. Now her stomach growled like an angry pack of wolves.

When the long hand of her watch ticked to the time of their meeting, Jaime arrived.

She saw him approach the café, looking golden and young. His hair seemed to have an extra sheen compared to the last time she saw him. He still had his beard, but it looked less scruffy now.

Her cunt, aching all day, swelled. She went bright red and hurriedly crossed her legs. She watched him look around, the expression on his face expectant and yearning. Her arm was about to shoot up and wave to him when his eyes found her.

To her surprise, her heartbeat retained its normal, steady pace as he approached. He smiled as he neared her.

She was done. It was over Jaime Lannister was a beautiful man but his smile, with those dimples, was like watching dawn break across the sky. Her heart raced and she stood up with quaking knees. He stopped right at the table, looking at her from head to toe. She did the same to him, saw that he was dressed up as well, but casually. A tan sport coat over a light blue shirt, dark jeans paired with dark brown oxfords. She saw his prosthetic right away and he caught her.

Unlike that night in Hollard’s when he visibly bristled and snarled at her, this time he didn’t attempt to hide it. She was glad. He shouldn’t be embarrassed about his disability.

“Hi,” she was the first to speak. Her voice was too small. Plaintive.

“Brienne,” he said. That drawl was as sexy on the phone.

He took the final step, until his chest almost brushed her tits. She was breathing fast. It was obvious. But he didn’t look smug nor mocking as she battled to remain calm. Instead, his left hand suddenly rose to cradle her cheek.

“I said I wanted to know how your freckles feel,” he murmured. He was slightly shorter than her, can still look right into her eyes without raising his chin so much. As she pinked from his words, he smiled gently. “I didn’t expect the bonus of feeling you blush too.”

“Jaime,” she whispered, touching his hand.

They looked at each other some more. In his beautiful emerald eyes, she saw kindness and desire.

She would have looked in his eyes longer if not for a sudden commotion from one of the tables. Jaime automatically took her in his arms as their heads whipped around to see servers clamoring to wipe up the sudden spillage on a table. The two women seated there were apologizing profusely while the servers gave them whispered reassurances.

Jaime and Brienne turned back to each other and realized where their arms were. She trembled as he suddenly pressed his nose against her neck, nuzzling her. A barely discernible whimper escaped her lips as his beard brushed her skin. “You smell fantastic.”

“I—I’m not wearing perfume,” she whispered back, remembering his fetish about a woman’s scent. She should be weirded out but didn’t want to leave his embrace.

He kept rubbing his nose up and down her neck, nudging the collar of her dress. Her nipples peaked painfully against the denim from the bristly caress of his beard. “You never have to.”

He was slow to let her go, showing a great reluctance. She sat on her chair again. He easily yanked his chair from under the table then sat down.

As if on cue, Margaery appeared. The knowing smirk on her face told she’d seen what had happened. “Welcome to Rose Café. Do you know what to order already or shall I get you menus?”

Brienne hardly heard. For as soon as Jaime sat down, he reached for her hand.

“We’d like menus,” Jaime told her.

“Coming right up.” Margaery threw a warm smile at Brienne before practically skipping away.

Brienne looked away from their joined hands to see Jaime staring at her. Age and experience told her what the brightness in his eyes meant. What was going to happen, if she wanted it too. She blushed and squirmed, hoping that at least her own eyes weren’t so obvious.

“I’m sorry,” he said, thinking her reaction was discomfort. “It’s just that. . .blue is a good color on you. I’ve seen blue before but it’s the first time I’ve seen it on someone, and it looked. . .right.” His voice softening, he added, “It goes well with your eyes.”

The velvety tone of his voice drew her eyes back to his face. She blinked, hating that her face and neck were growing hot again. He stared back at her tenderly, thumb caressing the fine network of bluish veins on her wrist. Her tits hurt. The denim felt like a lash.

“You—you look really nice,” she stammered. As she grappled for something more to say, Margaery arrived with the menus.

“Here you go,” she said cheerfully, winking at Brienne as she handed them the small bound menus. They had to let go. “Why don’t I give you a minute to make your choices?”

Jaime didn’t look away from her as he spoke. “That sounds just about right.”

“Good. Just call me then.” Margaery agreed before leaving them again.

Brienne took a deep breath and deliberately shifted her focus to the menu. “What’s good to order,” she murmured.

When she looked back at Jaime, he was staring at her. Then he suddenly flushed, cleared his throat too, then seemed to make a real effort to turn his head towards the menu.

“See anything you like?” He asked.

The words on the page made as much sense as Dothraki. Remembering an item, she said, “They do a good roasted turkey breast sandwich.”

“I’ve had that. I agree. But I’m hankering for their roast beef sandwich at the moment.”

“Oh, that’s great too.”

Jaime glanced at her. His right arm reached out, possibly to touch her. But the smile in his eyes vanished as he remembered what he no longer had, so he drew his arm back sharply.

Brienne wished she had reached for him.

“Are you as nervous as I am. . .Brienne?”

She burst into a smile of relief. “You too?”

“Of course. I didn’t think you could be real.”

“It’s nice to put a face with the voice, is it?”

Jaime looked in her eyes. “I’m glad for it.”

Brienne crossed her legs again and turned a vivid scarlet upon discovering how sticky her thighs felt. Jaime chuckled.

“What?’ She asked.

“You don’t stop blushing. I’ve never seen anyone blush as much as you do, and so quickly.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s. . .charming.”

Well, that’s a word never used on her before.

“So, we’re both having sandwiches. What about drinks?” Jaime asked her as Margaery went to them with a pitcher of water.

“I’ll have their tropical iced tea.”

The corner of his lip quirked into a smile before turning to Margaery, who was pouring water in their glasses. “My friend will have the turkey breast sandwich and I’ll have the roast beef with the horseradish. Tropical iced tea for her and coffee for me.”

“I notice you didn’t order dessert,” Margaery remarked as she noted their orders on her pad. She grinned at Brienne.

“Um. . .would you want to have it here or go elsewhere?” Jaime asked her.

“I really don’t know. I’m sorry,” Brienne wanted to kick herself. It was an easy question!

“We’ll just call you if we want some.” Jaime said to Margaery.

“No problem.” Margaery told him. Before leaving, she gave Brienne a concerned look.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne said to Jaime. “But—I didn’t—I’m usually a lot more---I don’t get very nervous like this.”

“You and me both. Hey.” This time, he reached for her with his left hand. She had to admit that his thumb skating across the pulse point under her wrist instantly soothed her. “It’s just me, Brienne. We’ve talked to each other in ways people who’ve been together for years hardly do. It’s just that. . .it’s only now we knew each other’s names.”

“And really looked at each other. I mean, we didn’t know each other yet back at Hollard’s. I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not.”

She expected him to withdraw his hand. Instead, he kept holding her. She grasped it in both hands and caught him staring at them.

“You have freckles, even there,” he remarked before returning his gaze on her face. She felt herself warm again, making him laugh. “There it is again. And here I thought blue was your color. But pink doesn’t look bad on you either. Or red.”

She cradled his hand in hers, memorizing the bump of callouses, the warmth of his palm. He had long, slender fingers. It was a beautiful hand. For the loss of something that beautiful, she would grieve too.

But it was only a part of him. A very small part of the man she had come to know. As he threaded his fingers through hers, she braced herself for what she was about to ask him.

“Won’t you show me?” 

He tensed. She saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his hand.

“It’s not that I want to see it,” she explained, “and have you show me how it works. But maybe if you start showing it more so it might become something like second nature. . .it might be easier. Only if you want to,” she clarified. “I just. . .I just thought to help, if you’d let me.”

Jaime sighed. “To be honest, I wanted to skip wearing it.”

“Is it hurting you, right now?”

He hesitated then nodded.

As his thumb stroked her palm back and forth, she whispered, “Would you like to take it off?”

 

*******  
Fuck the Seven. _Fuck his cock._

Brienne’s sapphire eyes were calm, clear pools. It was easy to get lost in them. Hells, he had been struggling keeping it together ever since he saw them up close. Covered in the smoke of Hollard’s and its low lighting, her eyes were memorable. Up close, in the sun, they were so astonishing it was next to impossible to look away. He had to make a real effort to do so.

And then her scent. What were roses compared to her warm, natural musk? He’d never seen a neck look so delectable, especially with those freckles. She smelled sexy and innocent at the same time.

No wonder his cock wanted to burst from his pants and ram deep in her cunt.

His arm was hurting from the weight of the prosthetic. Despite the protective cloth, his stump was beginning to chafe too. They were nothing to hot ache in his cock that intensified every time her gaze collided with his. She was truly ugly, complete with a blotchy face that got redder by the minute, but something about her harsh and plain features moved him.

And when she spoke. . . _ah._ He shifted in his seat, grateful for the table between them. What judgment she may have had on him for availing her service probably went out the window during the nights they debated about olives or laughed about wearing used and unwashed underwear. If she saw the boner ready to tear his pants open, she would definitely think he was a pervert.

“You don’t mind?” He asked, unable to stop his eyes from dropping to her thick lips.

“I don’t want you hurt, Jaime.”

She never did. He would kiss her now, just for seeing the truth of her words shining in her eyes. He looked around the café and shrugged, smiling sadly.

“Thanks. But it takes work to get rid of it. And people will stare. I appreciate that you understand it’s not easy for me, with this.” For the first time since seeing her, he put his right hand on the table. “Everyone wants me to practice, get used to it. It should be cool. I can control the movement just with my mind,” he said, tapping his temple. “But it just doesn’t feel like a part of me. I don’t really want it.”

He watched as she touched the knuckles on the prosthetic. What he would give to know her touch, there. She startled him when she cradled it in both hands. The fingers fluttered and she looked at him.

He flushed. “You surprised me.”

“Should I. . .” she started to let go and he shook his head. She smiled and inched her fingers toward the band where his skin began. His heart raced as she eased back the sleeves of his coat and shirt.

“My Dad used to do this to me, whenever I got nervous,” she explained, her finger pads gently pressing seemingly random spots on his wrist and higher. “I don’t know if I can do it as well as he does, but I’ll try.”

“Have you spoken to him lately?” He asked.

She nodded. “But not for long. He knows I’ll be visiting.”

“He must be excited.”  Jaime meant it. Too well did he know the feeling of being desperate for a father’s love and not even finding crumbs of it. He didn’t want her to know that, ever.

Her massage on his right wrist involved only the gentlest of pressure but he felt it all over. He didn’t know if she was that good, really, or if it was because of how much he wanted her. She was sweating and her scent got stronger.

He would rather bury his nose in her neck, or better yet, between her legs, rather than a bouquet of roses. He wondered how richly she smelled of musk down there. Did she have a bath this morning? What wonderful smell that combined sexiness and innocence would he find on her pussy?

He only had to think about it for his cock to jerk. _Damn it._

“Jaime. . .when you said I could look you up online, I did. Then—then. . .” Her voice faltered as she blushed anew. He stiffened in his seat, not just because her pink cheeks and neck were sexy but because of what she was going to ask him next. “I—I read about. . .about a car bomb.”

Just then, the pretty waitress who couldn’t seem to stop smiling at Brienne arrived. “Roasted turkey breast,” she announced, putting the plate of the sandwich in front of Brienne. “And your iced tea. Your roast beef with horseradish cream,” she told Jaime, winking at him before reaching in the tray for his drink. “And your brewed coffee. I’ll just get you cream and sugar.”

“There’s no need. I prefer black.”

“Okay. I had the cook put extra cheese,” she said to Brienne, squeezing her on the shoulder before leaving.

“Friend of yours?” Jaime asked.

There was that blush again. _Would she blush  when I fuck her?_

“Yeah. My best friend. Jaime, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay. I just—”

“No, no. It’s not that,” he assured her, reaching for the sandwich and gesturing she do the same. “It just feels something from a long time ago. But it’s only been a year. Or a year and a few months.”

He watched her eat the sandwich and had to stop himself from grinning. She didn’t take small, ladylike bites.

He hoped she gobbled up his cock the same way.

_Shit. Stop being a perv, Lannister._

“You’ve looked me up. I was hoping you would. But the internet only tells you facts. You read about the car bomb. I assume you also know the context of that?”

“Only speculation, from the reports.”

His right arm twitched, as if it too remembered the day.

“Do you remember Aerys Targaryen?”

 

******  
One of the misgivings Selwyn had with Brienne’s choice of Westeros University was its location: Kingsland. Kingsland was a big city that promised one could dream as high as the sky. And beyond. It also had a notoriously high crime rate, due to the mob controlled by Aerys Targaryen.

To put her dad at ease, Brienne had three sets of locks installed on the door of her apartment. As much as she wanted a corner unit, Selwyn didn’t want her apartment to be right next to a fire escape, because a thief or a rapist could easily sneak in through the window.

She was as safe as she could possibly be in her apartment, but work was another matter. Hollard’s was close so she wasn’t too worried about walking home late at night. But her job at the convenience store was another matter. It was rumored that the owner paid the mob protection money. And when he didn’t, that was when they were robbed. The two times it happened had been on Brienne’s shift. After having a gun pointed at her head for the second time as she hurriedly emptied the cash register, she quit.

Because her concern was finding a second job, she wasn’t paying too much attention to the national headlines. She did hear about a car bomb but there had been a survivor. She didn’t care who it might be. Rent, utilities and keeping her grades up had been her concern.

“When I was with the D.A.’s office, we were working with the police in building a case against Aerys Targaryen. His partners and henchmen were already on trial. Then we heard rumors of dissent within the inner circle,” Jaime began, sipping his coffee. “Turns out they were true. Aerys’ son, Rhaegar, was not only planning to take the leadership away from him. He was going to dismantle the mob and its affiliates once he was in power.”

“So, there was a power struggle?” Brienne asked.

“In essence,” he agreed. “But there was still work to be done so we would have grounds to finally arrest Aerys Targaryen. It was difficult. The man was behind every high-profile violent murder in the last thirty years but there was no clear trail. And no one wanted to betray him. You cross Aerys and he will wipe out your family from the face of the earth.”

Brienne shuddered. She remembered too well her dad’s warnings. She had waved them off, thinking his worry was due to his work in law enforcement. It didn’t occur to her until later that her would have ties and knowledge about the crime network in other cities too.

“And then. . .one day. . .we finally had proof. I got the judge to agree to a wire-tap. For four years we had nothing. Then one day, we hit a gold mine. We listened to Aerys himself giving orders about how his money was to be laundered.” Jaime put away the coffee. “And we also heard him order a hit on his son. We arrested Aerys. He was booked. The judge denied him bail. Finally, we could prosecute him. It was my case.”

She imagined him as a younger ADA, ready to get justice for everyone Aerys Targaryen had wronged.

“Even before the trial, I’ve been getting threats. Also the police chief and some of the detectives and officers involved. One of them had her son kidnapped. A police sergeant was shot in the head right in front of his wife and two children before they were shot too. My brother, who now manages the diner my dad had, was harassed several times too. Him and his employees. My sister and her family faced harassment too. She miscarried because of that.”

Brienne felt sick. She automatically reached for his hand. “Jaime, I’m so sorry.”

He put his prosthetic over hers, keeping it clasped between his hands. It was strange. Under her palm, he was warm and calloused. Real. On top was a rubbery, plasticky thing, fingers curving as if they were real. He told her this hand was controlled by his thoughts.

“Her ex-husband wanted me dead. But Cersei—my sister—she urged me to go on. I was at the breaking point. My family was paying the price all because I wanted to do what was right.  I was untouched until a week into the trial.”

“The car bomb.”

“Not yet. Aerys got one of his henchmen to break in and chop up my cat into pieces.”

_“What?”_

Jaime removed his hand from hers to nudge the plate containing his sandwich away. “Sorry.”

Brienne looked at him, wondering how he could narrate the past to her so calmly. His pulse under her fingers was not racing. There was no tremor in his soft voice.

As composed as he seemed, there was a haunted look in his eyes. Instinctively, she started pressing the pressure points on his palm gently, trying to soothe him. His gaze dropped to her hand. He continued speaking.

“I will never forget that day. The evidence and testimony against Aerys was damning. There was no way he could plea it out. No judge in the world would grant him an appeal. I could taste the victory, Brienne. It was there. After court, I went back to the office to work some more. By this time, I had police protection although I did not want it. I was pressed to at least stay in a hotel during the trial but I refused. I wasn’t going to let Aerys force me into hiding. I wasn’t afraid of him.”

He wouldn’t be. Jaime Lannister struck her as a person who, when he knew he was right, no force on earth could change his mind about it. Even it was the most difficult choice.

“My protection consisted of two police officers and a detective. Detective Arthur Dayne. We were friends. I got in my car. And. . .it happened so quickly.” He held her hand, then, stopping her from massaging him. “First, the squad car in front of me exploded. Then the car with Detective Dayne. I saw the sparks of a bomb shooting up toward me. I got out—I thought I got all of me out,” he added with a bitter smile. “My hand was incinerated. The doctors had to put skin grafts on my stump. Part of my chest and my thigh got burned too.”

Suddenly, he drew her hand to his lips, turned her palm up and pressed a hot, desperate kiss there. She gasped and he quickly withdrew. “I’m sorry—”

“No. No.” She shook her head. “I—I don’t mind. I was surprised, that’s all.” She bit her lip, hoping she didn’t have to beg him to kiss her there again. To kiss her wherever he wanted.

Jaime smiled tiredly and took her hand again.

“Too much on a first date?” He asked.

She chuckled. “I think we’ve gone past that a long time ago.”

“We haven’t exactly done things in the proper order, true.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong, though. To me.”

“No. This feels right, Brienne.”

She glanced at his prosthetic. “Hopefully there’s not much sacrifice required to do what’s right this time.”

Jaime slipped his fingers between hers again. “The streets are safer now. No Targaryen, no mob remains. Aerys was expected to go after me but Rhaegar, despite his betrayal, was still his son. He deserved better than a bullet to the head.”

“Do you regret it?” She asked.

“I should. But I can’t. I’m not the man I used to be. I miss him. But like I said. . .the Targaryens are gone. Aerys deserves to rot in prison. Would I change things? Sure, if it means keeping my hand. But I don’t like thinking about that. What happened, happened. There’s no other option but forward.”

She knew he believed those words, in his heart. But having listened to his struggles gave her doubt to how firmly he believed in them. She understood that he wanted to move on with his life. But how can he really do that when there was such a painful reminder that was a part of him?

“I’m sorry it happened to you. All you wanted was justice.”

Jaime looked at her carefully. “Do you pity me?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “But I hate you’ve been hurt.”  

Their sandwiches were half-eaten. Their drinks drained. But neither felt particularly hungry. Not after what Jaime had told. But Brienne didn’t want to see him go. Not yet.

“Jaime,” she began, feeling herself sweat, “um, do you still want dessert?”

“Depends on where,” he joked. She had to smile.

“My place?”

“I’ll get the check.”

 

**********

 

He was here. In the hidden bower of the exotic Zaphyre. Except she lived in a building that should have been condemned a long time ago.

Jaime sat at the foot of Brienne’s bed, watching her in the kitchen. She was barefoot now, skirt swaying slightly as she scooped ice cream into bowls. His coat hung on a chair next to her hip.

Her apartment was just slightly bigger than his bathroom. The whitewashed walls featured minimal decoration—posters about volunteerism, mass-produced prints of famous paintings. Shelves mounted on walls housed books and one small painting of a beach, which he guessed was Tarth. More books were piled on a desk.

Though there was little to see in her apartment, it smelled wonderfully of her. Musk, something buttery, and a touch of what seemed to be caramel. Talking about Aerys had killed his boner but he had gotten hard as soon as they left the cafe. Unable to withstand the torture of a walk with a hard-on, he called for a cab.

The drive was less than ten minutes, but it was also unexpected torture. Over the smell of cheap leather and the sneeze-inducing cheap cologne of the driver, he detected the soft notes of Brienne’s scent. He wanted to bury his nose between her neck and shoulder. He settled for putting his hand on her knee, causing his cock to twitch as he discovered how warm and supple her skin was.

 She had apologized profusely for the broken elevator. Jaime didn’t mind. The climb calmed his angry cock although he had to stop himself from looking at the slight thrust of her ass in the skirt, or the very nice view of the back of her pale knees and legs.

Depressing as her building was, and the threat of the floor collapsing under their combined weight, Jaime felt relaxed in her apartment. Her space was a showcase of a very young girl slowly transforming into a woman. Twenty-one years old, he thought, smiling at her as she went to him with bowls of ice cream. The floor creaked under her feet before she sat next to him.

“You’re fine with getting ice cream on your sheets?” He asked as she handed him a bowl of Chocolate Kingslayer. He glanced at his shoes then her feet. They were not particularly pretty, but serviceable. Wider and longer than his, with unpolished toenails. Her ankles were broad rather han slim. Still, he was intrigued.

“Bed is the best place to eat it,” she said, spooning a small portion of the creamy dessert into her mouth. “Yum. This is so much better.”

He tasted the delicious dessert, smacking his lips softly as chocolate filled his tongue. “I agree. We should have just had ice cream from the beginning. Not that I didn’t enjoy the sandwich.”

She nodded at the doggie bag on the dining table. “I can heat that if you want.”

“Later,” he murmured.

After that, they didn’t speak, too busy as they were with the dessert. For Jaime, the real treat was watching her eat. Watching her put spoonful after spoonful of the melting dessert in her mouth. Watching her swallow.

For an ugly girl, Brienne was strangely appealing. At least, to him. Something about her messy hair and her long, thick neck, plus the vee neckline of her dress that showed a promising splash of more freckles. Then there was her scent. Sitting so closely now, he had no trouble smelling her.

He thought women smelled best with perfume. Until now.

Her eyes. . .they were more beautiful than the gemstones that inspired their color.

“Jaime, is it okay to ask. . .I mean, you said you’re an ADA,” she said, licking the spoon and in effect, torturing him even more. Her full lips gleamed red from the cold dessert. “Is it still. . .do you still want to do that? After everything that has happened?”

His answer surprised even him. “I don’t know if I still want to be ADA.”

He had expected her to cluck her tongue and say it was a waste. Instead, she just looked at him the turned away to finish the ice cream.

“Brienne,” he said, gently bumping his shoulder to hers. “Don’t hesitate to ask questions. I’ll always give you answers.”

She looked at him as she spooned the last of the ice cream and put it in her mouth, giving him a peek of her wet, pink tongue. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you too. At least you’re not saying it would be a waste if I don’t return to my old job.”

“If I can be honest, I don’t know how you can still go back after everything. Only you know what your next step is going to be.” She licked her lips. “We’ve also just met. I have no right to comment on your personal life.”

“But we’ve known each other for a while, haven’t we?”

She nodded.

He couldn’t resist brushing her hair back from her ear. “Thanks for the faith. I wish I knew what I need to do next with my career.”

“It will come. More?” She asked, glancing at his empty bowl.

“No. I’m done.” Before he could say more, she was taking his bowl and bringing it to the sink. Again he watched the skirt swirl around her knees, wondering how a movement so mundane could be so arousing to him. Maybe it was the promise under the skirt.

His cock twitched.

“Brienne,” he said, as she walked back to him. “Why did you ask me back here?”

She had been about to sit down but his question made her pause in front of him. It was cute how she shifted her weight from one foot then the other. But he clearly made her uncomfortable. Hating himself, he quickly said, “ “Look, it’s not that I don’t like it but I don’t want to be presumptuous—”

“About what?” She asked in a small voice.

Seven but she was going to kill him. On the phone she was a wanton sex goddess. In person she was better. So better she was beyond needing a name. Jaime didn’t bother to hide the hope in his voice.

“I want you,” he admitted, his tone ragged with desire as he took in her messy hair and swollen lips. His eyes lingered on the neckline of her dress. It exposed her collarbones and some freckles from her chest.  He stood up, looking in her eyes. “I want to fuck you.”

He expected her to reel back, to be scandalized. Instead, she remained where she was, blushing.

“Did I embarrass you?”

She shook her head.

“Then. . .” he cleared his throat. “Do you want me to? To fuck you?”

Her eyes, he swore, sparkled. “More than anything,” was her whisper.

It was as if the Maiden herself had spoken to him. Granted him his wish.

“Jaime, do you mind if I help you with your hand?” She asked, startling him as she took it with both of hers. “It’s just that. . .I thought you’d take it off. I brought you here so that you will be comfortable without it. Not that that’s all my reason. I mean I was hoping. . .I do. I really want you to fuck me too, but your hand is hurting you and I don’t want you—”

“Hurt.” He finished. Yes, she was going to kill him. And it would be the most glorious, happiest of deaths.

“Yes. I don’t want you to find pain with me, Jaime.”

He smiled and held out his hand to her. “Be my guest, then.”

“Err. . this is expensive equipment---”

He reached behind him to unclip the harness. He groaned from relief. “Just pull.”

She chuckled and pulled, but gently. He smiled as she held it like a trembling dove. He slipped off the harness and rotated his shoulders. She took the protective stocking from around his stump.

She put the prosthetic and its accessories on her desk. Again he watched the skirt dance gently around her knees, innocent yet a vision that moved and stirred something in him. When she walked back to him, the sun in her gemstone eyes, he felt something in him lift and also give away.

The latter did not feel like a loss.

He stopped her from sitting down, smiling at her gently. So many times over the phone he had asked her to touch herself roughly, to pinch, to pinch. Finding that she was achingly, beautifully real, he now wanted to make his time. To touch and kiss every inch of her. Know how she smelled _everywhere._

Keeping his eyes on her, his arms moved for the belt of her dress. He pressed his stump on the side of her waist as his left hand loosened the loop. As he worked in removing it, she picked up his right arm. He jumped from the contact.

“Oh god,” Brienne was horrified. “Was I. . .are you sensitive?”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just that. . .no one has touched me there. Not like you just did.”

Her eyes were still wide. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“There will be no pain with you, Brienne.”

He loosened the belt at last. But she took his stump again, pushing the sleeve back and baring his ugly scars in the sunlight. Her hands had a heavenly rough texture that both tickled and soothed him as they caressed the bumps and ridges. He closed his eyes, dropped his head to her shoulder. He embraced her with his left arm.

“Jaime?”

“Keep going.” He was breathing rapidly. His stump and arm hurt from the prosthetic and the harness. They were highly sensitized as a result. But her hands. _Her touch._ She was honey and silk, rain and a sigh. He pulled at the shoulder of her dress, allowing himself a taste of her warm, freckled collarbone. One taste to discover the layers of her flavor. Between them, his cock pressed against her stomach.

Her hand went around his shoulder, gripping him by the nape. _“Jaime.”_

As her touch aroused him further, he discovered her musk laced with denim and something akin like dust. They were not unpleasant. He licked her.

Her sighs of pleasure echoed in the apartment. She stroked down his arm, her touch coaxing awake muscles that have atrophied. He felt her pull his arm up. Guessing, and hoping against hope, he pulled away but kept his arm around her waist.

He had no right to wish for it yet found himself stunned to silence as she pressed a fevered kiss to his stump. Kissed it not once, not twice. But again and again and again. Rubbing her lips against the scars. Something pricked his eyes. Again he pressed his face between her fragrant shoulder and neck. Her heart beat fast and heavy against his chest.

“Are you okay?” She asked, caressing his hair. He looked up at her. She was so tall, so imposing with her height but he had already sensed a vulnerability about her. Not a softness, no. Definitely not a weakness. She was far from fragile, but her heart was too good, too pure.

In response, he started undoing the buttons of her dress. She trembled, but there was no fear in her eyes. She let his hand go as he continued to release her body from the dress. Her shaky breath was almost a kiss to his lips as the panels widened with every button released. Following the path of the buttons, he sat on the bed.

Finally, he was done. He looked up at her as he pushed the dress open. A soft shrug of her shoulders for it to slither down like a whisper on skin.

Bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, her body looked like a honed marble rendition of the Warrior. He saw strength in her broad shoulders, longed to trace the straight line of her waist. Her tits were bumps rather than mounds. His mouth watered. What they lacked in curve and size was made up by her big, puffy aureoles and long, very plump nipples. And her freckles—each spot called to be kissed.

A hot daze swept over him, coupled by a stinging itch in his hand that spoke of desperation to touch her tits, or pull roughly at one of her nipples. Pain wrapped his stump too, remembering what his hand used to do.

_And her pussy._

It was at the level of his face. He didn’t have to breathe to know her scent. He didn’t have to touch her to know how wet she was. The thick tangle of dark blond curls shone with moisture. He sniffed, closing his eyes as her moist, womanly musk washed over him. And there—that hint of caramel. It called to mind visions of sugars melting over fire, flowing like heavy silk onto a waiting mouth. 

She was shaking so he kissed her on the stomach to relax her. She sighed, hands pushing through his hair as he filled his mouth with her warm, supple flesh. He raised his head a little to tongue one of her nipples. It was sun-warm satin in his mouth, ripening into a firm berry as he licked and suckled on it. She caressed him behind the ears, moaned lewdly. He groaned against her tits, his arms circling her waist. Her pubic hairs rasped against his cotton shirt.

He released her nipple, pleased to find it red and tight before taking the next. He looked up at her. She was blushing as she stared at him. Good. He wanted her to watch what he was going to do. Wanted her to have the memory of what only he could to her.

As her nipple swelled in his mouth, his fingers fluttered to her pussy, rustling the rough curls as they sought her slit. Her thighs were deliciously slick. He wanted to die right then, having already known this wet heaven of her. But he wanted more.

He did not know if he will ever have his fill of Brienne.

Her nipple popped out of his mouth, redder than the first. He turned his gaze to her pussy, breathing harshly as her scent overwhelmed him. She was gloriously hairy.

Brienne clutched at his shoulders as he pushed a finger inside her drenched folds. He groaned, leaning against her pussy as he discovered her soaked and tight she was. He nuzzled the curls, grunting as he breathed a perfume that was caramel and her soap and sweat, the musk that was all of Brienne and so much more. He sniffed her loudly as he pumped a finger inside her, thumb manipulating her clit. As she shook some more, he nosed through her hairs before bumping gently against her slit.

He pulled out his finger long enough to nudge one of her labia open and find the sweet, swollen thrust of her clit.

He pulled it between his lips and sucked. _Caramel and innocence._

_“Jaime!”_

 

*********  
Brienne’s legs threatened to give out as he mouthed her clit. Jaime caught her around the backs of her thighs, turning to lay her on the bed. Brienne walked her hands back until she could rest her head on the pillows. Jaime fell on top of her. She didn’t have to be told to spread her legs.

Panting, gasping, she watched his golden head dive between her thighs. Threw her head back as his beard scraped her wet thighs. Cried out from the sure thrust of his tongue as it resumed obliterating her. Whimpering, she pinched her nipples, quaking and feeling her pussy spill more juices into his mouth.

His beard scraped and rubbed her thighs and pussy like a sweet dream. He had a most wicked tongue. A truly masterful mouth. Keeping his face pressed to her pussy, hand and stump sought her.

She gripped his stump while her fingers clutched at his hand when his tongue flicked and thrust in her, darting and scooping every drop of her juice. Violent shudders wracked her body. Goosebumps broke out of her skin. Sweat formed between her tits and trailed down her stomach.

“Jaime Jaime Jaime Jaime.” His name left her lips as a plea, as a summons, a prayer and all she was left knowing from the moment his tongue decided to live in her pussy. Her hips thrust against his face, inviting him to fuck her deeper, giving him more of her taste.

How could she not have known _this?_

Maybe with the wrong man, it was nothing. With the right man. . .it was _everything._

Writhing from the once-unimaginable pleasure he was introducing into her with every stroke of his tongue, she watched him through half-closed eyes. Under the sun, his hair looked even more golden. His emerald gaze peered at her over the cluster of pubic hairs, gleaming with devilish delight and tender promise. “Jaime,” she gasped, spreading her legs wider. He raised his head, opening his mouth to show her his tongue before it returned to her slit. She sobbed.

She was hot, blushing and overwhelmed from his rough growls as he slurped her cunt. She refused to let his hand and stump go, fearing that she would disintegrate without him to hold. She needed him. Needed him so much. As she neared the brink, she felt something inside her begin to give away.

“Jaime,” she cried out, confused. “Wait—I—I—something---”

She shrieked as clear liquid suddenly squirted out of her and straight into Jaime’s mouth. He growled, rising on his knees. Shocked, they watched as liquid fountained out of her.

It happened so quickly, so suddenly, that she could be convinced it wasn’t real. Except the spot under her was now damp.

Mortified, she looked at Jaime. Shook her head in panic. “Jaime, I swear—”

As she spoke, she started to close her legs. He quickly stopped her. “Don’t do that.” Seeing her distressed, he asked gently, “Does this happen often?”

He was tensed. She could tell. His shoulders were stiff. His jaw tight.

She could only shake her head, still shocked and embarrassed.

“But it has happened before?” As he spoke, he stared undoing his belt. Unzipped his pants. She gasped upon seeing his size.

She thought he felt big and promising pressed against her stomach earlier. She did not expect him to have a beautiful, angry monster in his pants.

“N-No,” she whispered, unable to stop looking at his cock. “Jaime—”

A quick, desperate rub of his cock and he groaned loudly, like a man in pain. Except he wasn’t in pain but in the throes of release. She watched silently as he aimed his cock toward her stomach, spilling his semen there. His groans and cries continued as he proceeded to pain her tits with more semen.

“Damn it,” he swore, panting. His pale blue shirt was mapped sweat. His lips and beard shone. From her, she realized, blushing.

He should look ridiculous, with his shirt on, his pants and belt at his knees, his cock still long and fat despite hanging limply between his thighs. Somehow, he looked like a god to her.

“I’m sorry—” the regret on his face was undeniable. “That wasn’t—I was going to—I wanted to fuck you—”

As he continued stammering an apology, she looked at his semen. He had spilled all over her tits and her stomach. She swiped a finger on a droplet dangling from her nipple.

“Brienne,” he moaned, seeing what she had done.

She turned back to him. Her head felt warm, as if fevered. Yet she had never been so aware of her surroundings, of her body, _Jaime_ , until this very moment. She opened her mouth sucked on her wet finger.

He tasted nothing like chocolate. But she wanted more.

_“Seven hells, Brienne.”_

Feeling herself burn from head to toe, she swiped another dollop from her chest. She stared at him as she put her finger in her mouth.

“Gods be damned,” Jaime growled, throwing himself on top of her. He caught her by the chin, his heated gaze burning her alive. She blinked up at him, licking her lips.

“How are you real?” he whispered, the desperate edge in his tone revealing a fear he thought was in a forgotten vault.

Tears filmed her eyes as he throat tightened. Sniffling, she mumbled, “I need to know, Jaime. I need to know I’m really here. With you. I’m holding you. Looking at you.”

“You and me both,” he said. Then his lips were on hers.

She moaned, moving sensuously against him as their lips touched at last. He tasted of chocolate and her. Her tongue dipped inside to taste more of him.

He grunted and flattened her on the bed with his body. She caught her breath as she glimpsed the determination in his eyes. A taste was not enough for him.

He drank from her mouth.

 

 

 


	7. Throw Away the Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were lonely people, each with a different loss. Life had wounded them most cruelly. They still bore the scars. Will always have the scars. But they were not going to erase them.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN: Throw Away the Key

Jaime cradled Brienne with his left arm, his stump caressing her cheek and neck as they kissed. She tasted like sweet summer. And him.

She had very soft, very plump lips. He nibbled on her top and bottom lips alternately, sucking the swollen tissue between his teeth to get her to moan. His tongue slipped back and forth, around, as each lip was released before his mouth swooped in, pressing her through kiss and another kiss to open wider. Her sigh bathed his face, cool-warm from the ice cream and her, then thrust her tongue tentatively to him.

His arm was beginning to numb, pinned between her heavy weight and the bed. He didn’t care. She was kissing him. Touching him, her fingers fluttering through his hair, brushing his beard, his neck, down his chest. She thumbed his nipple, causing him to inhale sharply then lower her back on the bed. He pushed a hard leg between her thighs.

He was wondering why he wasn’t really feeling her bare skin when he was reminded of his half-undressed state. With great reluctance, he slowed the ardor of his kisses then pulled away.

Brienne opened her eyes. Her hair was veiled over her face. She blinked at him as she pushed the clinging locks away.

He smiled at her gently, raising his stump to her cheek. The sun was not kind as it bared the extent of his scars. As he was once again seized by that painfully familiar paralyzing anxiety, she kissed it.

“Y-You don’t have to,” he said, sounding unsure. But he really didn’t want her to be obliged.

Her eyes flashed like sapphire swords before her pale fingers wrapped around it. “And if _I_ want to?”

So, she kissed it again. He took a deep breath. “People want it hidden. _I_ don’t like seeing it.”

“Won’t you tell me what you want, Jaime?” She asked, drawing it to her neck. He breathed quickly as he was once again acquainted with the smooth, freckled feel of her. “Will you trust me?”

“I trust you. I want you. All of you.” He watched as she lowered his stump to her tits, towards a turgid nipple. “I just never thought. . .”

When he didn’t finish, she asked softly, “Tell me?”

“I never thought it could be for kisses.”

She nodded. “I do understand. I think I do.”

He leaned in and took her mouth again. Gods. He didn’t want to stop kissing her.

Her arms went around his shoulders, then one of her long legs climbed around his waist. He would laugh, tell her to let him go because he needed to undress but she felt too good. _She_ was too good.

It seemed Brienne knew exactly what he needed done. As their tongues swooped in each other’s mouth, she unbuttoned his shirt, opened it. He groaned as her palm pressed boldly on his bare chest, and her hand around his nape combed through his sweat-damp hair.

He buried his face on her sweaty, sexy-smelling neck as she pushed his shirt down his arms. Her feet nudged at his pants, which were just lowered past his buttocks. He let her flatten him on the bed as she yanked them down his legs, along with his socks and shoes.

He glimpsed her tiny, pointy tits, the dark blond hairs of her pussy as she climbed on top of him. Her messy hair fell forward as she bent toward him.

 She was sweaty and ugly.

She took his breath away.

He had never seen anything as beautiful as the passion in her sapphire eyes, or her swollen mouth. His lips opened as she leaned in to kiss him.

It was like having a most fervent prayer to the Seven answered at last.

Her pussy grinding against his cock had it hardening again. He felt her smile. “Welcome back,” she whispered, taking his lip between her teeth. Her eyes twinkled.

“You try keeping me away,” he whispered back. Her hands cupped his face and he kissed both palms. Then his eyes gleamed and he tossed her on her side, making her shriek and laugh in surprise before he was on top of her again, claiming her with another kiss.

She sighed as he rubbed his nose against her neck, licked the droplets of sweat gathered there before nuzzling her tits. His cock grew harder with each breath, every sniff of her skin. He began to sweat from the rising tension within. His cock was desperate to be inside her but there was no resisting smelling her some more. Tasting her some more.

And when she gasped his name when he claimed one of her delicious nipples—

 _This_ was where he wanted to be. In her bed. In her arms.

He continued his inspection of her body with mouth and tongue. Found himself addicted to the mingled taste of her sweat and his semen as discovered from her nipples. Relished in the feel of her toned tummy under his mouth, his hand. Just as he was about to bury his face in the wet heaven of her pussy, she tugged him by the hair. Her hard kiss cut off his yelp and once again he was swept by the slow, tender tide of desire she aroused so sweetly from him. He fell on her as she tongued him eagerly this time. Her legs opening invited the firm, possessive glide of his cock alongside her cunt.

Fuck. She was _drenched._

He never thought there was something to love about being helpless. He had become a mass of need for her and more and more of her.  As their tongues once again sparred, he rested his weight on his stump, ignoring the soreness, and lowered his hand to her cunt. He parted her folds, played with her clitoris then pushed two fingers inside her hard.

Brienne shrieked, breaking away from the kiss. _“Jaime.”_

He nibbled her mouth lip by lip again, enjoying her gasps and moans as his fingers plunged in and out of her dripping pussy repeatedly. He kissed her gently around the face, licked her cheek, rubbed his lips against her eyelashes while his fingers fucked her without mercy. The apartment was filled with the sounds of her breathless, tight whimpers, his wet kisses, and the squish and squeak of his fingers fucking her.

“It’s too much,” she groaned, burying her face against his chest, kissing him. _“Too good. Jaime. Ooooh.”_

Her face was twisted in what would appear as discomfort if not for the silver sheen of desire in her eyes. He kissed her deeply on the mouth then and pulled out his fingers. He pressed them to her lips for her to taste and she did. He smiled and kissed her face all over again as she licked his gleaming fingers. The pink of her cheeks deepened with each lick.

He kissed her on the forehead. He was shaking. His cock was killing him. “Do you have condoms?”

“Y-yes,” she answered shakily.

“Where?”

“I-I’ll get it. Stay here.” She grabbed his head and kissed him fully on the lips then left the bed. Jaime grinned, turning to see her firm, shapely ass disappearing behind the door of what he supposed was the bathroom. He piled the pillows against the headboard and leaned on them.

His cock now lay over his navel. He groaned as he stroked it. Bless his fingers still sticky from her cunt.

Brienne emerged from the bathroom with three squares of condoms. He almost chuckled, if not for how sensual she looked in the golden light of the sun. She was not curvy and feminine. Her tits were too small. The only thing that her body indicated she was a woman was her pussy, the pubic hairs now darker because of their wetness. Though they were thick, there was no missing the pink, beautiful wreck of her cunt.

Jaime sat up, holding out his arms to her. _“Come here.”_

He could watch forever how she climbed on the bed, crawling between his legs to take his cock in her big mouth. Combing her hair back from her face, he watched her eyes close as she slurped the head before advancing down his length. He had never been so hard. He was going to combust right to her face but the words to stop her simply wouldn’t come to him.

There was nothing to do but watch. And die and come back to life as she sucked and licked him.

“Now,” he demanded, his voice raw. He was almost sorry when she obeyed him too quickly. Watching him, she slipped the latex down his cock then threw one leg over his hip. His arms caught her around the waist as she held his cock. Together, they brought her down.

Rough, loud groans rang through the apartment as her cunt closed around him. Seven hells. She was wetter than he could imagine. And searing hot.

She was going to burn him alive.

Taking advantage of her head thrown back in ecstasy, he scooped her in his arms and peppered her freckled throat with kisses.

 _“Jaime.”_ With a sigh, she laced her fingers through his hair and straightened up, leaning her forehead against his.

He hated that his stump could do little in pushing the hair from her eyes. Keeping his hand on her cheek, he lowered his right arm to her waist. She seemed to nod, understanding what he wanted next. A quick but soft kiss and then she was grinding against him—slowly, sensuously.

Beautifully. He wanted to shout to the gods.

Her gasps and his groans swelled into one, harmonious sound as she moved up and down. He couldn’t stop kissing her, spurred by the wonder of her tight spreading and closing around his cock. He looked in her eyes. Kissed her wherever his lips could reach—her cheek, her nose, her neck, shoulder, nipple. She panted sexily in his ear or nibbled it. She kissed him too, rubbing her lips on his bearded chin, over his eyebrows. Groaned from the tickle of his damp chest hairs on her   nipples. As she gasped against his mouth, he thought her breath even tasted like caramel.

Her cunt was getting tighter with each swallow of his hardening cock. Through the white haze of their kisses, he began a mental countdown, his kissing going from airy brushes of lips to bruising presses. She squeaked at the exact moment he finished counting, hugging him tightly as she shuddered. As her pussy contracted around him, he was pulled into release too. He grunted against her neck, holding her so tightly that no one could tell where his body ended and hers began.

She was becoming impossibly heavy. Happily, he lowered them on the bed, keeping her in his arms even if she was making it difficult to breathe. She seemed to know this because she began rolling off a second later, but slowly, very slowly. He smiled as she took the blanket and drew it over their damp bodies. They lay facing each other.

She was beautiful, Jaime realized, taking in her messy hair, her red face and sleepy eyes.

“Will you stay?” She asked. “Or do you have to go?”

He reached up to touch her cheek then realized he was lying down on the wrong side. He would have to touch her with his stump. She saw his eyes go dim as he dropped his arm and hid it under the blanket.

“I want to stay,” he admitted.

“Good.”

Then she pulled his stump out of the blanket, taking it in both hands. A tired half-smile at him then she was asleep.

 

********  
The sun was beginning to set when Brienne woke up a few hours later. She watched the blood-orange rays flare in the sky for one final show before darkness came swooping in. Lights came on from other windows in buildings surrounding hers. The quick drop in the temperature had her huddling deeper under the blankets but seeking the warmth of Jaime’s body.

He was still asleep, his breath stirring the faint hairs on her nape. His right arm was now around her waist, with his stump held in her hand. With the apartment now completely dark, she could no longer see him. Not unless she switched on a lamp.

The minute she did that, he would wake. And she wanted to just feel him with her, like this. Be surrounded by an almost untouched quiet if not for the faint wail of a police siren and traffic a few blocks away.

“Are you okay?” Though his voice was a sleepy mumble, it startled her.

She flushed, grateful for the dark and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

He sighed and tightened his hold on her. “Good.”

She loved the feel of his scars on her nipples. They tickled. Even if it was a part of him that Jaime loathed because of what was no longer there, she saw something that he would never in a million years probably realize: that the scars, his stump, were testaments to the man he was. Yes, he was a different now. She would never know the old Jaime. But she hoped he realized that just because he had lost something, it didn’t mean he would never be whole again.

She found herself waiting for it—that inevitable despair and emptiness that swept over her as soon as fucking was over. But she had already fallen asleep. She was awake. Had spoken to Jaime. Now she was listening to him snore softly against her shoulder and there was _nothing._ Nothing close to the devastation that drew tears from her eyes. She was not left choking or wordless.

For the first time in years, she did not feel helpless.

She felt. . . _joy._ An immense and inexplicable _joy._ There was peace. That even with her problems with her dad, at work, making money, she felt _peace._

Carefully, she turned to look at Jaime. In the dark, she traced the high shape of his nose, the arch of his eyebrows. Nuzzled the bristles of his beard with her lips and cheeks. He sighed and hugged her, though he kept snoring. She smiled against his neck, breathing in his smell. Faded, crisp cologne and soap. Then something male. Very male. It didn’t take her long to be intoxicated from his scent.

Despite fucking Tormund for a year, she had no idea how he smelled. She had explicitly forbidden him from touching her any more than needed to be and had expressed her displeasure the few times he slept in bed with her. She had wanted so much to like him. He liked her—more than liked her, as he’d made her known many times. Why she couldn’t feel anything for him besides the need to fuck had eluded her until now.

He was not what she wanted. He was not Jaime.

No matter how much he would try, he would never know the sea inside her.

And Jaime, somehow, knew these depths. He just did.

They were lonely people, each with a different loss. Life had wounded them most cruelly. They still bore the scars. Will always have the scars. But they were not going to erase them, Brienne thought, finding his stump again and bringing it to her lips.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until a few hours later. The glare of the bedside lamp lasered right into her sleepy eyes, making her turn away swiftly with a groan. She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head to get rid of the lingering sleepiness. She sat up, squinting.

It was still dark. The lights were still on from other windows.

And Jaime was dressed in his shirt and pants, standing by the hot plate in her kitchen.

“Hey,” he greeted her, waving with a spatula. “Sorry I woke you. I thought we could have dinner.”

Brienne sat up, rubbing her eyes again. She didn’t bother to hide her tits with the blanket. The air smelled wonderfully of melted cheese and roasted meat. “Are those the sandwiches?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “Great. I’m hungry.”

As she started to leave the bed, Jaime said, “Whoa. Stay there. I thought we could have this in bed.”

She blushed. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh.” He smirked appreciatively as she got up unconcerned with concealing her nakedness. Her nipples tightened under his scrutiny.

They looked at each other. Jaime looked at her messy hair, her swollen mouth then her tits. His stare went from admiring to hungry when she blushed. “Don’t take too long.”

She passed by her desk, noticed that his prosthetic was still there. The battery pack was plugged in.

In the bathroom, she washed her face. She looked tired but her eyes were bright. Her lips were still red, tingling from the many, many kisses they were unused to receiving in such a short time.  Still standing in front of the mirror, she stretched, clasping her hands over her head until her shoulders and back popped most satisfyingly. Her nipples, rather than their usual pale pink, were red.

When she got out, Jaime was standing by the bed, shrugging off his shirt.

She ached from the beauty of him. His hair looked a little scraggly and his beard seemed thicker now. The shirt fell, revealing golden skin. His body had felt hard under her hands, but she saw his arm muscles had softened a bit. His stomach was still flat but there was half an inch of flesh she could definitely pinch.

Unaware that she was watching him, Jaime, one-handed, began to work on the button and zipper of his pants. Brienne licked her lips, hoping to the Seven she hadn’t been drooling. But her mouth did open as the pants began to fall, revealing golden thighs covered in fur.

And scars. Very painful-looking scars.

She would never forget the raised bumps and ridges on his stump. They were difficult to look at, but she had accepted that part of him so easily because she knew of it early on. He did mention about burn scars elsewhere in his body. She just never realized how awful they might be—they looked truly painful, still.

She must have made a sound, of sympathy, of anger towards Aerys Targaryen, _the gods fuck him_. Jaime turned around, grinning until he saw her breathing harshly, her eyes watery as they lingered on his scars.

Realizing what she saw, his smile dropped. Her chin wobbled from the sob threatening to break out of her as he looked back at her gravely. He faced her fully, aroused yet also clearly anxious of what she thought, what she was going to say. She couldn’t look away from the scars.

She could almost feel fire eating at her _flesh_.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sniffling. She ran a fist across her eyes and blinked rapidly at him. “I’m sorry, I—” One tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. “I’m so sorry you were hurt, Jaime. Gods, you were only trying to do what’s right.”

Her heart _hurt_ for him.

She made her way to him and he also went to her. She practically fell in his arms, the sobs tumbling out of her now. She hated herself for having so little control. But he embraced her, kissed her on the cheek and rubbed her back as her tears wetted his neck, his shoulder.

“I’m alive. That’s what matters.”

She sniffed, nodding. But she continued holding him tightly.

When he told her about the car bomb and how he’d lost his hand because of it, she had not been able to fathom the gravity of it. The point was he had escaped. Maimed but alive. Seeing his scars told her how close Aerys had come to ending him, really ending him.

A world without Jaime. It was not darkness nor a world without hope. It was more than that.

She did not know of his existence when he lost his hand. But she just knew, to her soul, what it meant to live in a worth without him. She just did.

Her sobs refused to stop. She trembled so much she couldn’t keep upright. The first of his many kisses meant to comfort was pressed on a mouth slickened by drool and mucus dripping from her nose. She gasped, trying to pull away but he gripped her by the nape, keeping her still as the kiss deepened. Tentatively, she kissed him back. Through half-closed eyes she saw his own gaze was rimmed red from the tears about to fall.

Mustering what little strength she had, she urged him toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit its edge. He sat down heavily, hissing that he did not wish to stop kissing her. She leaned into him, cradling his face while slanting her lips over his.

She started to lower herself, kiss by kiss. Brushed her lips on his bearded jaw. Grazed her teeth on the bulging bob of his Adam’s Apple before kissing it. As he did with her, she covered this part of him with kisses, nips. Sucked on his collarbone. Nuzzled her nose on the hairs of his chest while she pawed for his hand and stump.

Slipping to her knees between his thighs, she sat back, caught his gaze then kissed his palm, his stump. He swallowed no doubt still unbearably moved by her willingness to kiss the most hated part of him. She pressed her face back to his chest, her hands letting go to grasp his cock.

 _“Seven hells, Brienne,”_ Jaime grunted, his head falling back when her hands rubbed him.

She smelled him. Cologne and sex. _Jaime._ As she rubbed the hot, velvety feel of him, she caught one of his nipples in her lips. Sucked it. Tongued it. His hand and stump fluttered to her hair as she moved down his body. Her thumb spread the moisture leaking from his cock around the head, down the turgid length of him. She kissed the scarred surface of his hip, his thigh.

Tears began to well in her eyes again. One of her hands let go of his cock to hold him by the hip. Over and over her lips brushed the scars. Barely swallowing a sob, she turned and pressed her face to his cock.

“Gods. _Brienne._ ”

He smoothed the hair from her forehead as she sobbed quietly against his pubic hairs and cock. The hairs felt rough and smooth, his cock warm and so hard. She breathed deeply, wanting his secret scent to sink into the depths of her soul. As he continued caressing her, murmuring her name, she played with his balls with one hand. Guided his cock into her mouth with the other.

Hours had passed since they fucked, and he still tasted of her.

She looked up at him, blinking from the golden hairs tickling her. He watched with darkening fire in his eyes as she alternated between licking and advancing her mouth down the length of his cock. She sucked, pulled him until the head teased the back of her tongue.

“I want to fuck you,” he groaned, fisting what he could of her short hair. “Get on the bed.”

Once she was flat on her back, he was between her legs. From her tight throat were half-whispers and weak whimpers as his cock sank fully inside her in one thrust. Then his mouth was on her, muffling her cries. She kissed him, bit him. Wrapped her legs tightly and high around his waist as his head dropped to her shoulder. She growled against his neck as he tucked an arm under her knee, pulling her leg higher. The new position opened her wider, angled her hips ever so slightly. It was enough for his cock to wedge deeply inside her pussy.

Stars flared from her eyes.

Hearing the squish and squeak of their bodies joining and parting, Brienne lost herself in the soft dance Jaime was leading. She clung with all her might on his sweat-slicked back. Pumped her hips against his. He gave her his eyes, silvery and dark with lust at the same time. As he nibbled on her lips, she panted against his mouth.

Feeling herself about to come, she grunted his name.

Then it happened again. That odd sensation of something inside her giving away, like a wall crashing down. She screamed as liquid fountained out of her pussy once again. Jaime stopped for what seemed like a breath or two before suddenly fucking her with breath-taking speed. As her pussy continued to pour, it strained against what felt like the final flaring hardness of his cock before he groaned. She sighed at the sudden warmth spreading inside her pussy.

She embraced him, kissing him softly on the neck and shoulder. Her wet thigh brushed against the scars on his right side. Her lips wouldn’t stop tracing the line of his neck.

She couldn’t let go.

She didn’t want to.  

 

***********  
“So. . .you’re sure it’s never happened before?”

“Gods, Jaime. I would know, won’t I?”

“What if it’s happened before except that it was. . .a trickle. Not a gush?”

He grinned as her sapphires glared at him “ _I_ know.”

He moved closer to kiss the frown lines between her thick, pale eyebrows then took the plate that had held their sandwiches. Grunting, he turned to put it on the nightstand. He settled back on the pillows, turning on his side once again to look at her.

Her eyes soft now, she pulled his stump from under the pillow, once again taking it between her hand before tucking it under the curve of her neck. He held his breath as she nuzzled it. Under the blankets, her legs moved against his. He hooked an ankle around her knee and tugged her forward. Now his world was just her eyes and freckles. Her breath. Her pulse beat gently against his wrist.

While he never forgot what Aerys had done to him, he had refused to confront what was lost. The prosthetic was perfect in saving him from that problem, but it was a cruel reminder of what he still refused to see about himself. He acknowledged his disability. From day one he had. But seeing the scars always hurt him. They really cast doubt on standing by what was right and seeing it through.

He had no trouble looking at the burn scars on his side and thigh. They could be hidden, and they didn’t hurt. The stump was something else.

Its ugliness should go well with her face. _Ugly for ugly._ No trick of light could make Brienne even slightly attractive in photos or in the flesh. She did not have anything that could considered alluring or could qualify her as a probable temptress. The women he had been with shared nothing in common with her—not their smug confidence, their mastery of seduction. She also seemed to ditch panties on purpose.

There was no sugarcoating the truth about her looks but there was also so much more about her. This is what made her so refreshing and beautiful to him. Her voice had chased away nightmares. Because of her he had hope again.

And she was an intriguing, head-spinning blend of vulgar and shy. He remembered every dirty word she had whispered in his ear, every note sung in her moans. She was the voice in his head, urging him onward.

She was not shy with her body. He was very pleased with that. Hardly any shyness but her blushes hinted at it. She had fucked him nearly dead while blushing like a maiden. He saw power in her broad shoulders and thick, firm thighs. In her eyes he found softness. Tasted a most compelling woman through her mouth, her nipples. Her cunt.

“Are you looking for confirmation that you’re the only man to make me so wet I squirted?” While her words comprised a demand, her tone was playful.

“That would be nice,” he said, half-jokingly. “What man doesn’t want that honor?”

“So how my pussy was made, my nerves or whatever system in my body that might be responsible for it, it’s not the case at all but all you?” She kissed him on the nose.

He chuckled. When had he had any conversation with the woman he’d taken to his bed? He and Taena could talk, and have. But nothing like this. She let him fuck her in whatever orifice of his choosing for the night, but he didn’t know who she was. Nor had she made any attempt to show him another side.

“If you’ll allow me to take full credit. As a matter of fact, I’d like to earn that extra credit.”

He tucked his elbow under her knee, tugged her until her tits were pressed to his chest. Keeping her plastered to him, he hooked her leg over his waist then lowered his hand between their bodies.

His kiss swallowed her squawk as his middle finger plunged fully in her cunt in one thrust. She was still drenched. Much so. She recovered from her shock immediately by pushing her tongue inside his mouth.

He groaned, shoving a second finger in her fist-right pussy. A couple of quick, rough strokes, more throaty moans from Brienne and then she was flooding his palm. Her shriek nearly shattered his eardrums.

He was hard again. Desperate to sink in the pool of fresh come still dripping from her pussy. Instead, he kept his fingers in her, fucking her again. She screamed again seven seconds later, contracting around him as she spilled. He bit her lips as he shot semen all over her wet thighs.

When the clock struck midnight, he lay spooned against her. Her cheek was pillowed by his right arm, her hand gently massaging the end. Their thighs legs were wet with each other but neither felt compelled to clean up.

Jaime rubbed his nose against her nape, her sweaty hair. She now smelled like faint caramel and thickly of sweat and fucking. He pinched her nipple in approval, grinning as she squirmed by pressing against his chest then sighing his name.

“Aren’t you taking in clients tonight?” He asked, continuing to play with her nipple. It was cute, very responsive and very plump little thing.

She chuckled. He smiled upon hearing that sound, feeling his cock twitch. She moaned and rubbed her ass against it. She felt it too.

“I haven’t been on since the weekend. Studying.”

He kissed her on the shoulder, the side of her neck. Behind her ear.

“Jaime, you don’t mind, right?”

“Why should I? Unless you want me to?” He asked.

“I just. . .I want you to know. . .with the others it’s fake. With you. . .I used to fake it at first. And then. . .it became difficult. Until I couldn’t.”

She curled into her body and he saw her nape turn pink. The nipple he was playing with tightened even more.

Surprised and hurting for her, he stopped his play. “Are you embarrassed?”

She shook her head.

“I understand why you have to do what you do with your work, Brienne. I understand it.” He assured her, hugging her around the waist. “I’m not going to judge nor hate you for it. It’s a job.”

“Until you,” she confessed, turning to look at him. She did look worried. He sighed and kissed her gently on the lips. “It became really difficult having to perform for you. I found myself wishing it was real. And I’ve been. . .I’ve not been okay in so many ways since moving here.” She bit her lip. “I looked for other ways to forget how empty and lonely I felt. There was a guy.”

He froze. “A client?”

She shook her head. “A friend I lost. He wanted more.”

Then she looked at him with her sad eyes and he knew. She never wanted whoever that guy was. He was somebody she thought that could help and then things apparently got all confused on his end.

Jaime didn’t blame the guy for wanting her heart. But he couldn’t feel sorry for him.

“Does he know? That you’re struggling?”

“I couldn’t be bothered to try. I knew what I needed form him. Nothing more.”

“Yet,” he said slowly, realizing what was probably going on with her, “you told me.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He pulled her close then, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek. Understanding now what had so drawn him to her. It wasn’t her sexy moans. It was more than her eyes.

Before they even saw each and got to know each other over the past months, there had already been trust. He kissed her again, remembering how she was the only person in the world, back then a stranger, to _ask_ him. He had been told and told, given prescription, told and told again. Until the night he called the phone sex service and was brought to Zaphyre.

_What’s your name?_

_Jaime. My name’s Jaime._

His heart swelled. He held her tighter.

“I don’t want to leave,” Brienne murmured against his neck. “Can’t I be with you, Jaime? Only with you?”

He sought her lips and kissed her hard. “Let’s hope the world forgets about us.”

 


	8. A Slice of Our World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '"I don’t want you to feel you’re missing out on things just because you’re with an older man. Face it, Brienne. There’s almost an entire generation between us. What if you want to go clubbing and I don’t want to? And I don’t want to. I’ve done it and now that I’m a hand short, I don’t see the point. What if I want to marry you a year from now and you’re just about to start your career?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 4 gutted me. 
> 
> Between that and a conference (my first time to present!), it was hard to process things and get this chapter finished. I started work on the chapter before said episode premiered so the smut was pretty much taken care of. But finishing it. . .doing what I had outlined for this chapter was SO. FUCKING. DIFFICULT.
> 
> I'd like to think I've made my peace with the show. Leaks aside, I've accepted that every character is going to get assassinated by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss' shitty writing. Should have known early on. But it's too late to back out. With Episode 5 merely hours away and the series ending for good next week, it seems a waste of time to just keep ranting. There's also no avoiding the remaining episodes. I was all in. No matter how much I whined to SeleneU about not wanting to watch anymore, looks like I'll have to. 
> 
> Best we move on. And maybe avoid anything that these idiots will write or produce in the future. 
> 
> So, here we go. The latest update. Hope you like it.

 

Neither Jaime nor Brienne slept for more than a few hours. Besides finding a comfortable enough position in a limited space shared with a big body, the temperature dropped through the night too. This involved another sleepy negotiation for the share of the blanket. The compromise had Jaime resting his head between Brienne’s breasts, his cock nestled against her thigh.

A touch, no matter how slight, was enough to wake up both. With it came the sudden heated rush for more touches. Head half-sunk in dreams, Brienne thrust lazily against Jaime as they fucked on their sides. In their sleep a while later, her fingers wrapped gently around his cock, stroking him into a slow release that pulled a rough moan from his lips. He continued to dream with a hand pressed to her breasts.

He was pulled from a dream of a caramel ocean, finding himself hard and hurting so much to be inside her. He drank her pitched gasps as the sun rose, his cock plundering past the swollen folds of her cunt. She was wet. Sticky. And _hot_.

She screamed as her pussy squirted again, her legs stiffening on his shoulders as he rode her hard.

A few hours later, shy, small kisses on his chest woke him. He opened his eyes, smiling lazily at the sight of her pale blond head bent over him. She gave him a close-lipped smile before moving further down.

He sighed, arching when she put her head between his thighs. No one had made him feel like the god of the entire fucking universe until now, and she hadn’t put her mouth on him yet.

His eyes closed from the pleasure building inside as she kissed his thighs. Her cheek brushed his pubic hairs. Then she nosed them, breathing deeply. He opened his eyes and groaned from the rapture on her flushed face.

“Hi,” she murmured, moving down again. He was about to respond when she grasped his cock and opened her mouth.

 _“Brienne,”_ he moaned. Her lips were pleasingly plump and her mouth warm and welcoming. The veins in his arms bulged as his hand curled into a fist. His stump hurt from the memory of what it used to be there. Gasping, he watched as her mouth slid up and down his cock, all while keeping her beautiful eyes on him. He fell back on the bed, trying to still his hips from pounding aggressively up into her.

When she placed her elbows on his thighs upon sensing his predicament, he could have wept.

His eyes bulged staring at the ceiling of her apartment before turning back to her. Pale blond tendrils feathered her eyes. Her mouth was a warm, dripping cavern. _Bless her._ He watched her go up and slowly on his cock, mouth widening as she lowered to the base, pursing into a tight kiss when she rose towards the head before opening again to engulf him.

His cock shone with her spit.

Suddenly, he popped free from her mouth. He tried to protest but her fist closed around him, rubbing him swiftly while she licked and mouthed his balls. Her moans caused him to shudder, his cock jerking across the circle of her fingers. He gritted his teeth while her lips closed and tightened around one ball then the other. She moaned through her wet kiss, making him shake and grit his teeth. Pull at her hair. Pour out his need for her as her name fell from his lips.

He cried out when her lips warmed his cock again, sucking, sucking harder and harder. He groaned hearing her loud, wet slurps, from the vision of her mouth opening to take more of him in its pink recesses. He was tight and tensed all over, desperate for release.

He yelled as he came. She gasped and his hand pressed her firmer on his cock. She whimpered, lips opening and closing as she drank the semen streaming out of him. He fucked her mouth, gripping fisting her hair so she would take him. All of him.

He collapsed back on the bed upon spilling the last drop in her throat. She groaned, opening her mouth to free his cock. She dropped her head on his thigh. They panted, their bodies shaking from lingering passion. Her rapid breathing stirred his pubic hairs.

The stars had just been cleared from his sight when Brienne raised her head. Jaime groaned, feeling the room spin at the gorgeous sight of her red face and bright eyes. Her ravaged mouth looked like the sweetest thing, with semen smeared around it and dripping to her tits.

She licked her lips, blushing some more. He smiled and slipped his fingers through hers. “Kiss me.”

She looked horrified. “Jaime, wait. I mean—”

Realizing her embarrassment, he sat up and leaned in to her, taking her lips in a soft but hungry little kiss. Her mouth was just half-open and unresponsive. So, he licked his come from the corner of her lips. She gasped, reeling back sharply. “Jaime, I think I should—”

He licked his lips. “I taste good on you.”

It was cute how her eyes widened before dropping them to her lap. “Oh. I—I—you don’t mind?”

“That I’m all over your face or you can’t swallow cleanly?”

He bit back a laugh as she flushed down to her chest. “You actually said that.”

“I like that you’re messy about it.” He kissed her on the shoulder. “Do you have to go to school today?”

As his lips followed the line leading to her neck, she nodded. He licked a drop of semen from there.

“Any plans after school?”

He brushed his lips against hers and was pleased when she kissed him back.

“I have a shift at Hollard’s,” she whispered between kisses. He sucked her wet lips. Fuck. She was sinfully yummy.

“All night?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be here by nine.”

“What about your other job?”

She blushed and he kissed her on the cheek. “Midnight. Until two in the morning.”

Jaime pulled away, but just enough so he could keep kissing her neck. “You want to come over? To my place?”

He felt her hesitate before nodding slowly. Returning his lips to her, he whispered, “I’ll make you dinner. You can study, do whatever you want. I won’t be in the way. But I’d really like for you to come over. Fuck you. Sleep with you.”

He guided her down the bed, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. Seven o’clock. “What time do you have to be in school?”

There was no stopping the smile breaking across his face as she pulled him down, spreading her legs to accommodate his hips. As he caught her lower lip between his teeth, she murmured, “Not until nine.”

“Good. There’s time for me to fuck you.”

She laughed as he licked her. Sighing against her mouth, he rested the entire weight of his body on her. Her big body was a serious game-changer, he realized. Strong. Young. The things he could do. The things _they_ could do.

“Any food allergies I should know about?” He asked, closing his eyes briefly from the pleasure of her fingers running through his hair.

“Nothing.”

“Perfect.” He kissed her fully then. She moaned, meeting his tongue. Her leg wrapped around his waist. As he tasted her, and himself, he whispered, “Brienne?”

“Hmm?”

His lips traveled down her neck. A deep whiff of her skin had him groaning. “Do me a favor? Don’t shower today.”

“ _What?_ Jaime, I smell like sex.”

“Exactly.” He grunted as he felt his cock harden once it was pressed against her stomach. “You smell fantastic.”

 

*******  
For probably the first time since moving to Kingsland, Brienne knew how it was to walk in the sun. Every color of spring called out to her too. Flowers beckoned to be touched. People seemed to smile at her. Everything smelled so fucking good.

Well, nearly everything. Deodorant had been swiped on her armpits but she was sure the smell of fucking was still pouring out of her pores. If people weren’t smelling it, she certainly looked it. There was no way for her swollen mouth to be mistaken as a natural fullness. Her too-bright eyes, despite the circles under them, were a clear indication that she had spent the night fucking.

Would it be too much to hope for more nights like that? With Jaime? And days too?

Brienne crossed the street towards the university, looking both ways before hopping up on the sidewalk and going through the iron gates.

Checking her phone this morning showed a half dozen messages from Margaery asking if she was still on her date, if she was still with the guy and so on. Brienne called her as soon as she was out of bed and, with great reluctance, out of Jaime’s arms. They agreed to meet in the cafeteria before class.

Brienne entered the double doors of the building, scanning the breakfast crowd for Margaery’s wavy, light brown hair. She saw her best friend’s profile, and even from afar, the tensed line of her neck as she shook her head at someone leaning over her.

Tormund.

Margaery had her arms crossed and didn’t look too happy. Because of the distance and the noise, Brienne couldn’t make out anything from their conversation. Margaery was looking at Tormund, who remained standing with his hands stacked on the table, looming over her with the suggestion of aggression. Brienne rushed over, and when close enough Margaery noticed and threw her a look of relief. Tormund turned, slowly straightening to his full height to glower at her with contempt.

Brienne skidded into a stop, clutching at the strap of her backpack as she looked at him. A week ago, she had been close to broken over what had happened to them. In spite of Margaery’s assurances, she still felt terrible for Tormund. But seeing how displeased he was hammered in something she never realized until now: that no matter how truly sorry she was, no matter how many times she apologized, he was not going to forgive her. Not for a long time.

“Tormund.” Margaery’s voice was sharp. “You should go.”

His eyes drilled into Brienne’s, daring her to look away. She stood her ground, even when he went to stand right in front of her.

Suddenly, his hateful look turned into disgust. “You’ve been fucking someone.”

The wave of red overwhelming her skin instantly revealed the truth. Brienne refused to back down, even as she cringed inwardly.

“You’ve got his stink on you, you know.”

 _“Tormund.”_ Margaery snapped, scrambling to her feet. The chair scraped loudly across the floor, the sound causing several students to look at them. 

“It’s fine, Marge,” Brienne said. She refused to be hurt and shamed. There was no reason to be. As Tormund smirked over her non-response, she startled him by speaking calmly.

“Goodbye, Tormund.”

She brushed past him, the weight and force of her body causing him to stagger. She didn’t look back while pulling out a chair for herself. She didn’t flinch from his glare, busy with checking the contents of her bag for pens, notebooks until he stormed off.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Margaery asked, sitting down.

Brienne shrugged, putting her bag on the chair next to her. “I can’t be bothered by him. I refuse.”

“That’s good.” Margaery patted her on the hand and tilted her head towards the line. “So, do you want to eat? I checked. They have French toast today.”

That made her smile. It was her favorite. “Let’s go.”

Leaving their bags, the two women went to line up. Brienne got French toast, which she drowned in syrup, then added scrambled eggs and sausage links to her meal. She was famished, having had only a sandwich to sustain her through the vigorous night. Margaery piled her tray with hashbrowns, sausages and a small bowl of fresh fruit. After getting coffee from the self-serve machines, they had their meal cards scanned.

“Alright.  When are you going to spill about your date with the blonde god?” Margaery demanded cheerfully as they returned to their table. She grinned as she sat down, forking some of the hashbrown into her small lips.

Brienne blushed, laughing as she loaded her fork with a bit of the now-soggy toast and sausage. “What do you want to know?”

Margaery squealed and leaned forward, her brown eyes twinkling. _“Everything.”_

Just as Brienne was about to narrate what had happened, she turned a brighter shade of red as it all came back to her. Jaime reaching for her hand when they first met in the café. His caress on her cheek while he spoke huskily about wanting to know how her freckles felt. The unceasing, hungry pull of his lips on her nipples. His golden head between her thighs as he fucked her with tongue.

She squirmed in her seat and Margaery squealed again.

“ _Brienne!_ Did you fuck him?”

Her cunt was _wet._ Biting her lip, she nodded quickly.

“Oh, my gods! _Tell me_.”

And Brienne told her. _Everything._ Margaery alternated between squealing and gasping, her excitement ratcheting up the more Brienne described last night and this morning’s events. It was still a bit unreal to her, despite the sweet soreness of her pussy. But she could still feel Jaime—the scratch and scrape of his beard on her cheek, neck and between her legs, his scars tickling her nipples. His kisses. _All_ his kisses.

“We fucked the whole night and it was so, so hard stopping.” She admitted, biting half of the sausage. Salt and heady spices flooded her mouth. “He was. . .he fucked me like—like a—” her cheeks reddened—“a train.”

Margaery helped herself to coffee. “Like a subway train, you mean?”

“Oh, no. Those things are kind of tired and chug along, you know? He was like—he felt like a bullet train, if you will.”

They nodded slowly, understanding what she meant. “So, would you say. . .he’s very efficient?”

“Efficient and takes his time too.” Brienne wasn’t going to say that the first time had Jaime spewing all over her. She’d never had that done to her.

She wanted it again. With Jaime.

“Also. . .unstoppable,” she added.

 “Is he big?”

Brienne blushed and nodded. She crossed her legs and Margaery grinned. “Are you sore?”

_“Marge!”_

“Oh, gods. He must be a giant.”

Tormund had felt bigger but Jaime’s cock had touched her in ways she never thought possible.

“Gods. A man with that face with a cock by the gods.” Margaery marveled, slapping her hand on the table. “When are you seeing him again?”

“Tonight. He’s making me dinner.”

Margaery clapped her hands. “And he makes dinner! Gods, Brienne. Getting to fuck a face like that and he wants to make you a hot meal. Don’t hate me that I’m jealous, okay?”

Brienne laughed. “Of course not! It’s fucking unbelievable, right?”

“Meanwhile, I’ll have to settle for Renly making me no-cook noodles. Or ordering take-out.” Margaery sighed dramatically.

“He _is_ handsome, though.”

“Thank the gods.”

“And absolutely worships you,” Brienne reminded her.

“Well,” Margaery grinned. “There’s that. He’s not too bad, come to think of it.” She squeezed Brienne’s hand again. “I’m happy for you. You look absolutely happy. This is the first time I’ve seen you like this. Thanks to Jaime’s Lannister’s cock.”

 

********  
“So, when am I meeting her?”

Jaime nearly dropped the package of ground beef the butcher was handing to him over the shelf. As he flushed and tossed it to the cart, Cersei laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Together, brother and sister strolled down the supermarket aisle.

“I’m helping you cook dinner for her. I think I need to see for myself how amazing this girl is, don’t you think?”

“Her name is Brienne,” Jaime reminded her, steering the cart towards the vegetable aisle. He watched as Cersei reached for a bag and began choosing potatoes. “And she’s more than amazing.”

Jaime intended to go straight home after covering Brienne with kisses all the way from her apartment until the lobby of her building. It was thrilling to see that she struggled with their separation too, letting him kiss her and kissing him back. He should be embarrassed for behaving like a teenager but he was too happy. For the first time since losing his hand, he _knew_ happiness.

His head was still in the clouds on the walk home when Cersei called to ask if they were still on for coffee. This had been arranged even before he got the prosthetic. Since Cersei was a lot closer than his place, he had no choice but to go to his sister looking—and smelling—as he did. She only had to look at him from head to toe to conclude he had been fucking a woman and enjoyed it _very well._

“I would think so. Rarely does a woman impress my brother. Except perhaps, yours truly,” she teased, winking at him. After filling up the bag, she went to display of onions next to load another bag.

“Do you really think shepherd’s pie is the way to go?” He asked.

With his head still thick with Brienne’s sexy, knee-melting natural scent, Jaime had extended a dinner invitation without thinking. He was not going to take it back nor change the plan. He simply forgot that he was a hand short. Brienne, the gift that she was, made him forget that.

And he did look forward to doing something nice for her. She had no idea what she’d done for him so many times. He glanced at the prosthetic holding the handle of cart. He was trying to practice and ‘bond’ with it some more, but there was no way he could chop onions and garlic with it.

“Brienne will be starving after her shift and would want to put her feet up,” Cersei said, getting the bags of vegetables to have them weighed at the counter. As Jaime followed her, she continued, “You’d want to feed her something that’s not likely to spill on her clothes when she eats from her lap. But she deserves better than pizza.”

Jaime smirked to himself as Cersei spotted a pile of garlic next and put them in a third bag. If Brienne spilled food, he would be happy to remove the soiled clothes and lick her clean. The woman was fucking delicious everywhere. Her scent drove him crazy too.

“Well, yeah, but she’s in college. I would like to think she’ll fall in love with me if I got her pizza.”

Jaime didn’t realize what he’d just spilled until Cersei looked at him with shock before frowning. He cleared his throat as she silently put the bags in the cart, her green eyes scrutinizing him sharply.

“Did you just say she’s in college?”

“She’s twenty-one.”

“Still, Jaime. _College?_ ”

Still appalled, she seized the cart and pushed it away from him. He sighed and went after her. “So, what if she’s a little young? She’s mature for her age, believe it or not. And she understands me.”

“How exactly did you meet her? And how do you know?” As she spoke, she grabbed a package of peas from the frozen section then went on to barrel down a random aisle.

“Know what?”

“That she understands you. You’ve only been on one date.”

He was never telling anyone how they met. Not without running by Brienne first. “I just know.”

“You just know?” Cersei scoffed.

Jaime got in front of the cart so she couldn’t push it. Holding the edge with his flesh hand and prosthetic, he leaned toward his sister. “You don’t know what I go through everyday facing the fact that I’m a fucking cripple Cersei. _Every hour. Every fucking day_. There’s only so much therapy can do. And Brienne understands that part of me—the part only _I_ know and no science, no expert will truly know unless it’s happened to them.” He straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “She’s young. I know that. Too young for me. But we understand each other.”

In his annoyance, he grabbed a jar of gummy bears and put it in the cart before turning away from her. Then continued down the candy aisle, collecting packages and tucking them under his right arm.

“Jaime.” Cersei said, sighing loudly before cursing under her breath.  He heard the squeak of the cart’s tires as she hurried after him before stopping right next to him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I wasn’t being mean.”

“No?”

“I was—surprised. She _is_ young.” Cersei pried the package of chocolate action figures from his arms and put them back in the shelves. “But if you say she’s amazing and understands you. . .then I believe you. I was just thrown. I didn’t even think you were interested in dating someone. Let alone someone you see falling for you.”

 Jaime cocked an eyebrow and Cersei flushed. “Let’s face it. You used to date. But you’re never just with someone. I don’t think you’ve cooked a woman a meal before.”

Well, he couldn’t remember. Probably. Very likely. Jaime continued to stare at Cersei as she spoke some more.

“What I’m trying to say is. . .if this woman—”

“Brienne,” he snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

“ _Brienne._ Right. If you think she’s all those things you said and you’re cooking her dinner. . .then I hope you keep her around.” Cersei went to take the cart again and nodded at him. “You look good, brother. Let’s just hope you didn’t wear her out fucking her all night.”

Jaime groaned and snatched a pack of lollipops from the shelf. “ _Never_ comment about my sex life again.”

Cersei laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Then maybe next time you should shower first before meeting your sister. Don’t forget I’m a mom, Jaime. I can smell anything no matter the distance. How could you think I wouldn’t smell you?”

 

*******

Because Brienne only worked part-time, her hours were shorter than the other servers at Hollard’s. Sansa and Jeyne kissed her goodbye. Olyvar, coming from the locker room, kissed her on the cheek before taking over his shift.

Brienne put her used Hollard’s shirt in her backpack, put her tank top and sweater back on then left the bar. She checked her phone for messages. Jaime had texted her twice. The first said he missed her. The second—

She gasped and turned a bright red. Quickly, she pushed her phone back in her pocket.

She took the bus to Jaime’s place. As soon as she sat down, her phone buzzed. It was the handsome devil himself.

“Hey,” she greeted him, her face still warm from his last message.

“So,” he drawled. “Did you see it?”

Dropping her voice and cupping he hand to her mouth, she said, “I’m just glad that wasn’t a dick pic.”

“Would you like one?”

_“No!”_

He chuckled. “Just thought to check. Where are you?”

“I’m in the bus already. So. . .ten minutes, maybe?”

“Good. Can’t wait to taste you.”

She laughed. “Stop it.”

“Never.”

Lion Avenue was the halfway point between uptown and downtown Kingsland. It was home to the art center of the city, due to the number of museums and galleries in the area, as well as the studios of artists. Brienne got down at the bus stop and walked two blocks to Jaime’s place.

Jaime’s building was a low-rise apartment building of which the city had been building a lot of in recent years. At just only seven floors with lattice windows, the building fit right in with the small galleries, cafes and art supply shops in the block. She didn’t think he would live in an area like this, having pre-conceived notions that being in a serious profession meant he preferred lots of peace and quiet.

She took the elevator to his apartment in the fourth floor, then walked the short hallway to his unit at the corner.

Suddenly, she paused, realizing something.

This would only be the second time she had seen Jaime. The second time. And he was already cooking her dinner. And they’ve done. . _.many things._ She palmed her burning cheeks, pausing mid-stride.

Nothing about what they had done was anywhere close to normal. She had slept with a number of men but have never been in a relationship with any of them. It was clear from the beginning what she expected from them. But with Jaime. . .

She had dived into something where she had no expectations, no knowledge, but had willingly put her heart on the line without question. It should scare her. A hand on her heart didn’t indicate any rapid beating or a skip in the usual rhythm.

She knew nothing yet felt sure. There was trust.

She leaned her forehead against the door, flushing and smiling a little. Laughing softly, she straightened up and rang the buzzer.

Jaime with a huge smile and his face-splitting dimples was a vision she would never tire seeing, Brienne thought, her shy smile widening in response to his. Now her heart beat fast.

Blond hair brushed back, his emerald eyes sleepy yet bright and clearly pleased to see her. The gray plaid shirt he wore was faded and the collar of his t-shirt worn and stretched. The knee of his jeans was threadbare. Yet he looked good. Wonderfully good. He smelled freshly of soap and lemons too.

“You’re here,” he said, surprising her by tugging her by the belt to kiss her on the lips. His prosthetic held her by the cheek.

“Yeah. I found you,” she whispered, one of her hands rising to his chest as they kissed some more.

He sniffed her neck. “You smell like beer.”

She giggled. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

He continued pulling her by the belt until his false hand could nudge the door closed. As he helped her with her bag and sweater, she scanned his apartment.

It was definitely bigger than her studio. Rather than the sleek, modern and masculine space she was expecting, Jaime’s apartment was comfortable and cozy. No florals or any frilly details but there were no somber or dark colors either. The furniture looked worn but still sturdy, and the pieces clearly handpicked rather than infused with a professional touch. As Jaime’s arms hugged her from behind and his lips brushed her shoulder, she noticed black-and-white photos featuring young children and some seascapes.

She licked her lips as she turned around to kiss him. As their mouths crushed each other’s , she caught a whiff of something earthy and rich and touched gently with spices. “Something smells good,” she murmured, breathing sharply as he cupped her breast under her tank. His prosthetic pressed on her spine.

“I took a shower.”

She licked his lips before moving to his neck. His beard felt so good. “I meant the food?”

He laughed and kissed her back. He smiled through her blushes as he played with her hardening nipple. “Are you hungry?”

She could eat. She was also tired. But seeing Jaime, tasting him and kissing him, made her crave other things. She pressed her nose to his neck, flooding her system with his clean scent. He suddenly groaned against her shoulder, pulling her closer. She sighed dreamily as his cock poked her.

“I want you.” Her heart was in every word. She was not afraid.

Jaime pulled away, just enough so his emerald eyes could burn into her, fires that disintegrated the walls erected since she was a little girl. She reached for his hand, looking as she fitted her fingers through the gaps between the thin, mechanical fingers of his prosthetic. She kissed it reverently.

He breathed sharply. “I shouldn’t feel that.”

“Jaime,” she whispered, leaning down a little to rest her forehead on his.

“I thought no one would want me anymore,” he said, caressing her cheek with his flesh hand. “I thought all I needed was to be wanted. It’s no longer that, Brienne. All I care is you want me too.”

She cupped his face and looked in his eyes. He had spoken surely but there was still need in his gaze. A plea that what she had said be true.

“I,” she whispered, kissing him, “want,” licked him, hugged him, “you.”

Another longish kiss between them, wet tongues sliding slowly into mouths before thrusting with wild abandon. Moans and groans tangled, as did limbs, with one of Brienne’s legs climbing high around the back of Jaime’s thigh. He took her chin in hand, deepening their kiss.

“Bed, I think, what do you say?” He asked.

“Oh.” She blushed, quickly lowering her leg. She shivered as he nibbled the tip of her earlobe. “Yeah, okay. Um, where?”

Jaime pulled away and looked at something behind her, nodding with a small smile. “Through that hallway. Third door on the left.” He pulled up the right sleeve of his shirt.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

He kissed her again. “It’s alright. Just wait for me.”

Just before she left, he tugged gently at her hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat first?”

“Um, maybe later. But if you want to eat now. . .?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s you I want.”

She stared at him.

“What? Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yes,” she laughed, turning pink. “It’s just. . .I’ve never heard anyone say that. About me. Like you have.”

He grinned. “Go to my room. Wait for me.”

Following his instructions, she walked down the hallway and opened the door. She flipped on the bedside lamps and quickly undressed. She put her sneakers under a chair and folded her clothes neatly over it.

She was still standing by the chair when Jaime arrived. His shirt and t-shirt were gone. His jeans were still on, but the belt was loosened. Her eyes were soft as they stared at his beautiful face, his broad chest and the thick carpet of golden hairs. She gazed at his scarred right arm, realizing there would always be a tightening in her chest every time her eyes fell on it. A hand to pay for the life that might have been lost.

Something akin to fever wrapped around her but she had never felt so clear-headed until now. She blushed as her nipples peaked eagerly towards him. She looked at him over her shoulder then climbed on the bed.

As soon as she was turned on her back, Jaime spread her legs wide. He groaned against her pussy as she arched, gasping from the passion of his kiss. His nose nudged her labia open, mouth quickly latching on to clit. Her skin leaped to the deepest spectrum of red as he growled and slurped loudly from her cunt, as if relieving a great thirst.

“Jaime,” she sobbed when his lips pulled harshly on her clit, sucking it between his teeth. Sweat exploded from between her tits.

“You taste so unbelievably good. You still taste like me.”

‘Oh, gods,” she groaned, smacking her palms on her face in embarrassment. She tried pulling his head from between her legs. “You should let me shower first.”

“No. Fuck. _So fucking incredible._ ”

His tongue parted the slick folds of her pussy, nudging at the silky, plump flesh to lick the delicate, highly sensitive insides to make her cry out. She gasped, spreading her legs and bending them, watching him feast on her. She panted and grunted through his kisses, then moaned when his tongue thrust inside and began to taste her. Really taste her.

He thumbed her open, sinking his face against her pussy, slurping and kissing her wildly, wetly. She moaned and shrieked as he nursed on her clit, pulling it between his teeth, soothing it with licks, kisses, before sucking it and repeating the entire process.

She quivered, crying out for him, blindly reaching for his head, his shoulders. He was relentless. Sucking and pulling at her clit to take it deep in his mouth. Two fingers fucking her pussy and curling hard inside

_“Jaime.”_

She screamed as she came, spilling a river on his mouth and palm. . He drank her. _Drank her._ Her eyes were huge with disbelief, but it was real. Jaime Lannister was sucking on every drop squirting out of her pussy. He raised his head, chuckling, still pushing his fingers in and out through her wet crash.

She was still dazed and trembling when he unzipped his pants and pushed it down with hand and stump. The rest of his movements were a blur, although she heard the rustle of denim on skin, a foil tearing, his grunt. Then he was taking her in his arms, his mouth slick and dripping with her swooping down for a kiss as his cock slammed inside her in one hard thrust.

Having him inside her so deeply was beyond seven heavens.

He tucked an arm under on her legs to open her wider. She clung to him, an arm around his shoulders. They knew they had to loosen their hold just every so slightly so he could pull and thrust into her in long, hard strokes. But neither wanted to let go. She wanted her nose against his hair, smelling his shampoo, getting sprayed by sweat with every movement he managed in her tight embrace. He seemed happy to keep his face pressed to her shoulder too, his chest hairs a wicked burn on her nipples. As his stump caressed her down the side of her thigh, his hand lowered to the cleft of her ass.

Brienne gasped as his fingers slipped inside the tight entrance. Eyes huge, she tried pulling away, shocked and stunned by the new sensation in this part of her, and the burn that ended all fevers. “Move,” he begged right before taking her mouth in a rough, artless kiss. She obeyed him, fucking herself on his cock as his fingers remained deep in her ass.

She came for the second time, letting out a broken little whimper against his neck as he cried out. The rawness of his release startled her, his heart beating so fast against her chest she feared he would die right then. “Jaime,” she whispered, holding him. She cradled his face in her hands.

“Look at me,” she kissed him ardently on the cheeks, the lips. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes, emeralds nearly black. He grunted and hardened even more inside her. She gasped, spreading her legs wider.

He went on forever. A storm in her arms that she refused to curtail.

 

*******

 _“Now_ can I take a shower?” Brienne asked  a short while later.

Jaime grinned against her nape. Spooned against her sweaty back, his hand roamed freely on her flushed, still-trembling body. They were sticky and there was a scent about her about to turn rank but he couldn’t stop holding and caressing her. She made no move to be apart from him, either.

“Do you really have to?” he asked, kissing her on the shoulder.

She sighed and turned around. She rubbed her cheek against his stump. “I doubt you’ll want to fuck someone so foul-smelling.”

“I’ll still fuck you,” he admitted.

She smiled and sat up, fixing her rumpled hair. He remained on the bed, watching as she leaped off and turned to him. He liked that despite being unsure where to go next, she didn’t bother to cover up. Good. He liked seeing the marks of his kisses on her swollen mouth and her throat, the splotch of lingering wetness from between her thighs. His toes curled as his calf brushed against a damp spot on the bed.

“Bathroom is right across,” he said, propping himself up on an elbow. “You’ll find towels in a shelf. You can use my robe.”

“How generous.” Brienne turned to leave then looked back at him again. It was cute how her big nose continued to sniff the air. “What exactly did you make? It smells really good.”

“Shepherd’s pie,” he said quietly.

Brienne looked surprised. He shifted uneasily. “Is that—do you like it?”

She bit her lip. “I’ve never had it. Dad mentioned my Mom liked it and he used to make it for her. He never did again, after she died.”

Worried she was upset, Jaime got up and went to her. Her eyes looked very big and blue, and the memory was really getting to her. He wanted to kick himself for letting Cersei railroad him into preparing another dish. What the fuck was so wrong with pasta? It was comfort food. It was always great. And he was great at making it.

Before he could reach for her, Brienne let out a small, watery laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly. I’m just. . .I never thought. I clean forgot about it. I can’t wait to taste it.”

“Are you sure? We can just order pizza,” he offered, taking her around the waist.

She shook her head and looked in his eyes, smiling gently. “I want to eat shepherd’s pie.” Then she laced her fingers through his. “Will you join me? In the shower?”

He nodded.

He let her lead him, watching her big hand open the door before she steered him inside. He watched her look at the room for a few seconds, knowing she was thinking how very small and very modest her own bathroom was compared to his. But he didn’t see any embarrassment in her face, nor did she give him a look of apology. Instead, she tightened her hold on his hand and pulled him into the shower.

As water rained on them, he put a hand a hand on her waist, dropping a tender kiss on her shoulder before embracing her fully. Her lips rubbed against his temple as she caressed the slickening hairs on his chest.

They kept kissing and touching each other as she got the soap and rubbed it first on him, then herself. He hissed against her lips as she soaped his cock, her strokes soft yet arousing. Keeping his stump around her waist, he uncapped shampoo with his hand, caught her eye and tilted it. She offered him her palm and he poured the fragrant liquid on it.

Their eyes shone as she rubbed the shampoo on her hair first then on him, ignoring his weak protest that he had taken a bath. She whispered hotly about wanting to smell like him and he almost shot off his load right onto her feet. As the water freed them from shampoo and soap, she covered his face and stump with kisses. He held her close, groaning at how good her wet body felt, at how hard and puckered her nipples were. Through the water pouring on them, he looked in her eyes and guided his hand down her waist, the flare of her hip then the center of her ass, towards the crevice.

He swallowed her sweet little wail as his fingers sank inside her tight passage again. Holding her with his stump, he desperately kneaded at the flesh of her buttocks to spread her open, fit his fingers better. She grunted and rocked against him through their kiss, their wet bodies sliding against each other’s as he fucked her. Gods above. She was hot. _And tight_. He had never had anyone as tight as she was.

“Jaime Jaime Jaime Jaime.” She gasped, looking at him with half-closed eyes, his names tight sounds from her throat. Her fingers fluttered around his neck before seizing him by the ears to devour his mouth. He growled, burying his tongue in her mouth as he sank the entire length of his fingers in her ass. One of her legs tried to wrap around his hip again but was hampered this time with his body pressed so tightly against the wall. He hook his right arm under her knee and opened her up, spreading her open.

They came at the same time, her cunt once again expelling a river as his cock jetted thick streams against her thigh. She sobbed through her release, giving him glimpses of her watery eyes as she kissed him back and whimpered his name. He mashed his tongue to hers through the violent quivers of her body, desperately wishing for his other hand so he may hold her cheek, stroke her face. Instead he just burrowed the fingers of his one hand deeper in her ass, wanting to burn from her hot, unyielding passage.

He grunted as she sank heavily against him. They panted quickly, their hearts beating hard as one. He had to pull his fingers out to hold her more securely against him. It was sweet how limp she was and he would laugh about struggling to keep them upright on the slippery floor if not for the genuine worry she might get hurt. His lips traversed her face in a series of light little kisses as he urged her to stand up. She whined weakly, murmuring incoherently but straightening up.

“I can’t walk.” She snuggled against him, kissing his neck. “I’m a useless mess.”

He laughed and brushed her wet hair back. “I can’t carry you, sweetheart.”

“Hmm. Let’s just stay here?”

“Wench.”

He had to pull her out of the shower, valiantly holding her with his handless arm as she swayed and complained about being sleepy and tired. As he pulled a towel from the shelf, he thought about the many times he had fucked her last night. The newness of her was addicting. But it was her eyes he couldn’t get enough of—never had he seen anything so blue. When she came apart in his arms, they were a very vivid, brilliant sapphire color. How could he resist fucking her?

As Brienne rubbed her eyes and leaned against the sink, he patted her dry awkwardly with the towel. Her body was flushed from the warmth of the shower and also bore signs of being loved by him. The pink burn his beard had left behind on her cheeks and throat, her sensitive, tight nipples and the little purple kiss marks he had left. He didn’t pat her cunt dry, preferring to leave it dripping.

Through his ministrations, Jaime got hard. _Again._ Only minutes had passed, and he wanted her again. He understood the appeal of a new fuck, but Brienne was so much more.

Too soon, he told himself, stifling a groan when she took his hand and kissed him.

“To bed, you,” he whispered, reluctantly pulling away to hug her to his side. The walk to his bedroom was short but time seemed to stretch as he half-dragged and lured her with more kisses.

He managed to put her on the bed, pleased at her sexy sleepy smile. She sighed and looked between his legs. “You’re hard.”

“I fucking am,” he groaned, getting the blanket to draw over her. “But you’re resting first. You’ve had a long day. You have work later.”

“Stay with me?” She asked, sounding innocent and a seductive at the same time.

“Brienne—”

“I don’t want to rest,” she declared, though her yawn disproved her a second later. She stretched, arching her tits towards. “Won’t you fuck me again, Jaime?”

“There’s no way you’ll enjoy fucking when you’re half-dead, sweetheart.”

She shook her head, her eyes twinkling. “You’re wrong.”

“How about dinner first? We can eat in bed.” Jaime knew he was a fool for refusing to fuck but it was important it got across that he cared for her in ways that didn’t always involve his cock. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Another shake of her head followed by her hand skimming his thigh. He groaned. How many had been felled by those eyes? 

He fell behind her, nibbling on her neck and shoulder, licking the droplets of water there. He thumbed her nipple, getting her to arch sharply and her hand sliding between their bodies to take his cock. The position didn’t leave much room for movement, but it didn’t matter. They were kissing. Touching. Together.

Burying a sigh on the arc between Brienne’s neck and shoulder, he cupped her breast, surrendering to the gentle but sure strokes of her hand on his cock. He panted against her cheek, kissed her, tightened his hold on her breast, pinched her nipple to pull a moan from her lips. As he felt himself grow harder with each pass of her hand, his world narrowed further and further until it was only her body and her hand on him, and her gasp his very breath.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thrusting fast across her hand, teasing her back entrance with the head. “Okay?”

Brienne, visibly gulping, moaned, “What?”

He let go of her breast and grabbed her by the hip, pressing her against his erection. “This. Like this.”

She gasped, realizing what he meant. But she nodded. He kissed her firmly on the shoulder before rolling to the other side of the bed.

His hand was shaking as he took the lube. Pinned the end with his stump as he twisted off the cap, fighting for control as she watched him, her eyes liquid and gleaming with desire. Sweat exploded from his pores as he fought the urge to look at her as he rubbed lube on his cock.

“Turn,” he rasped, finally daring to see her. Brienne’s eyes fell on his cock before turning back on her side. He kissed her on the neck, on the shoulder, discovered she was tensed. Still kissing her despite his cock punishing him for delaying fucking her, he caressed her spine with his sticky fingers. His lips traveled back to her neck, her cheek then she gave him her lips.

Her sweet, giving mouth. He could kiss her for hours. Forever.

She moaned when he broke away from the kiss. She held him by the hair, covering his cheek with heated kisses as he took his cock to direct it toward her cleft. She grunted then, freezing and stiffening instinctively at this new intrusion. He dropped his head on her shoulder, willing himself to calm and wait until she relaxed.

“Take it easy,” he whispered. “There’s no need to rush.”

She let out a sigh. “It feels so different.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. Never.” She managed to look at him. “I know it, Jaime. I just do.”

Then she turned and thrust back at him, inviting him to slide deeper inside her.

 

*******  
They got around to dinner eventually, at Jaime’s insistence. Brienne was more than happy to sleep in his arms and wake up when it was time to work. She could have bites in between faking orgasms to strangers on the phone. She had almost laughed when he lectured her about setting a proper time to have a decent meal.

He had her sit at a table, which was already set with heavy china, gleaming silver and large goblets for wine and water. He didn’t have to do so much for her, but he had. Moved by this gesture already, she was not prepared for the sight of him struggling to bring the clear square dish containing the shepherd’s pie.

She pushed her chair back to help but was stopped by the firm shake of his head. He had not put the prosthetic back on. Slowly, she sat down, trying not to watch and listen to him hiss from the heavy weight of the glass dish and its contents.

He put it on the center on the table with a loud thump. Better than a bang, she thought, putting a hand on his stump. He was sweating a little from the effort. Impulsively, she kissed him, aiming to land it on his cheek but at that moment, he turned to her, mouth opening to offer her the food.

They laughed through their awkward kiss, with Jaime tipping his head back for more. Brienne, smiling and blushing, stood up to sit on his lap. His thighs were harder than the chair and quite sore on her well-used backside. Remembering what he’d done made her burn all over. And he was watching her through squinty eyes, probably remembering too. He tucked her errant locks behind an ear.

She looked at him, fairies dancing in her stomach, her heart fluttering. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m not too heavy for you?”

He bopped his nose playfully against her chin. “You feel like everything I want.”

She brushed his hair back too, drinking in the softness and beauty of his eyes. He looked happy in her arms. There was a brokenness in him too. She didn’t know if she could heal that, if she was supposed to heal him. But his brokenness led him to the man she held. The man she could—

She kissed him again, still not ready to let that thought bloom. _Too soon._

“This was your mom’s favorite, you said?” Jaime asked, nodding at the food before them. She stared at the bed of mashed potatoes coating the layers of beef and peas.

“According to my dad,” she said. “I’ve always wondered about it and asked if he could make it. He said it was too painful.”

“I hope you like it. I used to be able to make the dish easily, but it needs two hands. My sister had to help me.”

“Your sister?” Brienne asked as he leaned forward to cut a piece off the food. “The one who helped you get the prosthetic?”

“That’s the only one. Cersei.” Jaime put a piece of the food neatly on his plate, then took the fork to break it into a smaller morsel. He forked it up then held it to her lips, taking a deep breath. “So. . .ready?”

Brienne opened her mouth and he put the food in. She sighed, closing her eyes as savory, earthy flavors touched gently with spices bathed her tongue. It was rich and hearty, the very epitome of comfort food. As she swallowed her first bite, she opened her eyes.

Jaime was looking at her expectantly, his left hand gripping the fork and turning it over and over. She took it.

“Is it. . .” he watched as she took the piece from his plate and held it to him.

“It’s really good,” she assured him. “Have a bite.”

She fed him next, watching his facial expression flit from hopeful to relief then pleasure. He smiled and she kissed one of his big dimples. She moved to return to her seat, but he stopped her.

“What the fuck are you doing? Stay here.”

“Jaime, you can’t mean to have me eat this whole time on your lap,” she exclaimed.

“I want to,” he growled, kissing her on the neck and nuzzling her tits through the tank top. “I didn’t get to touch you all day.”

She blushed and hugged him. A part of her warned that she shouldn’t get used to being wanted like this. Yet another part, louder and firmer, said that when it came to Jaime Lannister, it was either you were all in or not at all.

She couldn’t imagine not giving her all with Jaime. Her heart felt too full and ready to burst whenever around him. Happiness like this didn’t exist in her world. She didn’t think she had any right to feel this kind of heaven.

“Hold me and I’ll take care of feeding us?” She asked, caressing his stump.

He beamed. “I’m in your hands.”

“You know, it’s better if we eat right off the tray,” she said, putting the plate aside and dragging the dish toward them. As Jaime shook his head in exasperation, she added, “It’s just you and me, here. I’m wearing your pajamas and you’re in boxers. There’s no need for the fancy silver, Jaime. You’re here. It’s better in ways I could never hope for until you.”

It was the truth. Five months of just talking on the phone and dreaming of each other. One day to see each other truly. Then this second day of bliss. Brienne would think this all a dream if not for the swell in her mouth that refused to ease, a result of too many kisses too fast. Or how much her cunt hurt when Jaime was not inside her.

Once she had held him, she could not forget how he felt. It had been a long day, but it was worth it for she was back in his arms.

“I’ll always put out the silver for you, though,” he said, stroking her hair as she ate some more. “Gold too. Sapphires, if I can get them.”

She fed him next. Watching him chew, she said, “ You mentioned before you dad worked in a diner. Did he cook for you?”

“My dad ran and owned a diner,” he clarified. “And he did, until we were old enough.”

“Which was. . .?”

“Maybe around thirteen?” He kissed her as she took her turn with the food. “My sister and I helped at the diner around that time. We’d go after school, waiting on tables and cleaning the place. I became the short-order cook when I was sixteen.”

“What did you like your dad to make for you?”

“Nothing in particular. I would be surrounded by food and smell of grease all day—it was worse in the summer. Food for me was just something you had to survive.”

“But you cook?” She gestured at the food.

Jaime sighed as he poured them wine. “Not until I was in my twenties and learned it impressed the ladies. Still, the best food for me is still something that comes in a takeout box.” She laughed and he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious!”

“I was wrong to think you were this classy guy,” she teased him.

“I’m not saying I live for burgers, sweetheart. But I can tell you that the steak from Moon Door tastes so fucking better from a box and when eaten on the sofa. Fuck the ambience at that restaurant.”

“This can rival anything in the Moon Door menu,” Brienne declared, gesturing at the shepherd’s pie.

“Thank you.”

“I really liked it,” she said honestly. “Thank you for making it for me.”

“Really? I mean, I thought being in college—”

“Yeah?”

He actually blushed. “This is not to make fun of your age, Brienne. I’ve never been with anyone as young as you are. I admit I was just going to call for pizza.”

“Why are you apologizing? I don’t mind pizza.” She said, confused. “What does my age have to do with it?”

He sighed. “I’m saying it all wrong.” As he caressed her knee, he added, “Fucking you—that always seems to go right.”

She kissed him. “Not just the fucking. Believe me.”

“I don’t disappoint?”

 _“How?”_ Genuinely baffled, her question came out as a cry. Jaime looked startled and she flushed, bowing her head. Cupping his face in her hands, she said, “You _don’t_ disappoint me, Jaime. I—I want nothing more than to just be with you, have you fuck me every day, every night. I enjoy listening to you talk. I like looking at you. I want to be there for you in every way you want and need. How can I want all that with you if you’ve disappointed me? And if you had—I’m not going to walk away.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question you,” he said, holding her tightly. “I’m just—”

“What is it?”

He looked chagrined. “Gods, I should know better than to listen to my sister sometimes.”

“The one who helped you with the dinner?”

He looked annoyed. “I admit I didn’t give it much thought until Cersei pointed it out.”

Brienne looked at him. “What exactly? Does she hate me?”

“Fuck, no. I can assure you of that. It’s that. . .I did think about it but it was just a passing thought.”

“What?”

“I’m thirty-five years old, Brienne.”

“So?”

“By time you’re twenty-five, if we’re still together by then, I’ll be forty.”

 _“If?”_ Brienne couldn’t help but squawk.

“Try not to freak out, please,” Jaime pleaded. “I’m just. . .I don’t want you to feel you’re missing out on things just because you’re with an older man. Face it, Brienne. There’s almost an entire generation between us. What if you want to go clubbing and I don’t want to? And I don’t want to. I’ve done it and now that I’m a hand short, I don’t see the point. What if I want to marry you a year from now and you’re just about to start your career?”

“Those will not be problems if we talk,” she pointed out. Seeing how worried he was, she asked gently, “Jaime, you can always talk to me. What do you really want to say?”

He took her hand, looking at it before drawing it to his cheek. As he looked at her, he took a deep breath. “I can’t. . .I can’t lose you.”

She gasped softly as he kissed her palm hard before turning back to her. “It doesn’t make sense. We’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours but that’s not the case at all, is it?”

“No,” she said slowly. “It’s not.”

“Maybe you have a clearer head than I do, Brienne. But unpack this for me. How is it possible that I’ve come to care and bond with someone who was only a voice on the phone until yesterday? And now I refuse to imagine a day without her in my life?”

“What if we stop trying to make sense of it,” she suggested, touching his cheek. “Can’t we just be together? Care for each other with every passing day? Because that’s how it is for me Jaime, with you. I didn’t want to care for you. You were just a job until I got to know you. And then. . .I just did.”

“You do?”

_“I do.”_

He kissed her hungrily on the mouth. She kissed him back. Nothing felt as right.

“What if I’m too tired to fuck you because I’m old, Brienne?” He asked between kisses. “What if I’d rather sleep than fuck you?”

“What if I’m too green with the ways of the world because I’m too young?”

He grinned as her meaning sank into him. “But you are wiser than me. I’ve always known that,” he whispered. “And I’ll always be more than glad to teach you.”

“Likewise,” she said, brushing her lips against his. “Let’s just always be there for each other, Jaime.”

He nodded. Another slow, deep kiss and then she pulled away to stand up. She offered her hand.

“Where are we going?” H asked, taking it.

“To bed,” she answered simply. “And just be together.”

 


	9. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve hurt me so much! You made me feel unwanted. A burden. You’re my Dad and I know Mom dying fucked you up but what about me?”

_One month later_

New routines took getting used to, but there were some, Brienne would come to learn, that did not feel like requiring the slightest adjustment. More like it was something that simply happened, the equivalent of scooting over in a bench to make room for one.

Being on academic scholarship with two jobs, Brienne always had her plate full. But making room for Jaime in her life was surprisingly absent of any hardship. She still worked at Hollard’s and the phone sex line, still had to sacrifice a few hours of sleep to keep her grades up. Jaime, buoyed with passion, now attended his therapy and counseling sessions religiously. He got better with the prosthetic but still removed it as soon as he was home.

And every morning, it was Brienne who put it on him, pulling the safety stocking over his stump before strapping the hand on, helping him adjust the harness. A kiss would be exchanged before they parted for the day. It was hard, yet also easy. She looked forward to the end of the day because Jaime was the breath released, the gold at the end of the rainbow. He was the promise of sunrise fulfilled by twilight.

He fucked her nearly every night. They had no set schedule on when to stay at each other’s place but a few times in the week found him squished next to her on her creaky bed in the apartment, his gentle, lazy pulls of her nipple between his fingers lulling her into a sleep filled with images so erotic she burned through the night. When she slept over at his place, she was barely three steps in before finding herself on the floor, moaning in lewd approval as his tongue repeatedly stabbed into her cunt.

She was getting fucked so much and so often it was necessary to switch to more efficient birth control. He crushed the box of condoms in his prosthetic with a grin upon finding out she was on the Pill. They celebrated the entire weekend fucking and she _wouldn’t_ stop coming. He teased her about having to change the carpet in his living room, and possibly getting a new mattress too.

They were alone most of the time but made time to be with other people too. Jaime invited Renly and Margaery over for dinner. It would have been an awkward affair for the entire night since Renly turned out to be the younger brother of Jaime’s soon-to-be-ex-brother-in-law. It was Margaery who steered them away from any conversation regarding family and Jaime took her lead.

He introduced her to his brother Tyrion next. Brienne felt ludicrously tall next to the man, who stood just a little over four feet tall, but Tyrion had helped her relax with amusing anecdotes from Jaime’s childhood. By the time they left the café, her sides were aching from laughter.

They slept often spooned against each other, with Brienne cuddled against Jaime’s back, or facing each other. Jaime liked to count the freckles on her forehead until he fell asleep. Brienne liked to wrap her arms and legs around him, giggling over his mock protests about getting crushed.

On nights when she didn’t have to work, they fucked or just hung out, grabbing a quick bite or going to other areas in their respective apartments. Jaime’s place offered more options. While he watched some TV, she read a book. At her place, he scrolled the tablet for something to read while she made notes. She liked to rub her toes against the sensitive line of his Achilles’ heel.

Sometimes, when Jaime’s therapy finished early, he swung by the university to wait for her. Today was Monday. She didn’t have work at Hollard’s.

He parked himself by the front steps of Baelor Hall. This was where she had her last class of the day. Whipping out his phone from his right inner jacket pocket, he sent her a message.

Fifteen minutes later, the bell rang, and students began to file out. He craned his neck, already on the lookout for the pale, freckled blond. It shouldn’t be hard to find her.

As the crowd began to clear and still with no sign of Brienne, Jaime pulled out his phone again. Still no answer. Like every adult below twenty-seven years old, she was almost always attached to her phone and hardly every missed a call or a text. He wondered if he her schedule mixed up, or if she had decided to skip class today. Still, he would know. He never asked her but she always made sure to inform him if she would be home late, or if anything came up.

“Jaime Lannister?”

Frowning over the unfamiliar voice, Jaime turned to see a small, slender man walking toward him. He smiled upon recognizing who it was. It had been years since he’d seen the man but his moss-green eyes were still brilliant, alert pool. He had more lines on his face now and he moved slower. But the tweed jacket and the crooked olive tie were the same.

“Professor Reed!” He exclaimed, coming over to shake his hand. He naturally offered his left hand while the older man had extended his right. Howland Reed noticed his prosthetic then and quickly switched hands to shake him with.

“I knew it was you,” Professor Reed told him, grinning. “You’ve got some lines on you, Jaime, but you’re still quite the handsome devil, aren’t you?”

“You’re too kind to say so,” Jaime said. “You don’t look bad yourself. Teaching keeps you in good shape, I think.”

“If the gods be kind. What brings you here? I heard you worked at the DA’s office?”

Jaime swallowed a sigh. “Yes. But I’m on sabbatical right now.”

“Can I entice you to teach a course here? You’re one of the best students I had.”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s a skill that evades me. But thank you. I’m actually, uh,” he cleared his throat, “waiting for a friend.”

“Which professor? Maybe I know her.”

“Err. Not a professor.” Jaime shoved both his hands in his pockets. “By any chance, would you know a student named Brienne Tarth?”

“Know of her! She’s my student!” Howland exclaimed. “I just had my class with her. But I think she hung back to talk to a classmate. She’s in 1208. The second floor.”

“Oh. She’s there?”

Howland was looking at him. “A friend you say? Brienne Tarth?”

Jaime shrugged, forcing himself to smile. “Teaching keeps you young, Professor. I have another way.”

 

********  
A month ago, Brienne would have given anything to be where she was. Wracked by guilt over how things had ended with her and Tormund, she had imagined numerous scenarios about asking for forgiveness and having her friend back. Despite the hurt, she still wanted him in her life. They were good friends once. She had hoped there a chance to go back to that.

She had always been ready to face the music, ready to take the blame but there was hardly any Tormund around for a few sessions. Asking Professor Reed about his absence revealed that Tormund had asked for time off from class due to a personal crisis, and also requested for independent study. He ignored her emails, her texts, her calls. Realizing he wanted nothing to do with her was more painful than losing him. But she had made peace with it. A mistake was made. She had done what was possible to fix what was broken.

There was no going back.

She shifted her focus on her life. Her job, her school, her small group of friends. _Jaime._ He was a most unexpected gift, and one that she didn’t deserve but had been given. Having him in her life made all her guilt and pain over Tormund insignificant. She found a happiness unlike any other with Jaime. When something so wonderful and priceless came along, you treasured it, protected it.

In the last three classes, Tormund had come back. He sat in the back ,so she didn’t see him until class was over, and he was always in a rush. There was still pain, she had realized. Not of rejection but of loss. Even if one day he happened to look her way and smile at her, they could never regain the kind of friendship they had prior to fucking.

She couldn’t hate herself for that choice. Not when it brought her to Jaime.

But after class today, Tormund approached her and asked if they could talk. She owed him no favors, given how he had judged and shamed her in the cafeteria. She could easily walk away. But because of that little flare of hurt, she agreed. The buzzing in her phone meant someone had messaged her. She hoped it wasn’t anyone important.

She squirmed in her seat, trying to concentrate on Tormund mumbling under his breath as he paced in front of her. He had a new haircut, a short style that was a dramatic departure from his old wild mane. He had switched his colorful, graphic t-shirts and loose jeans with a plain black tee and jeans that fit more closely around his legs. The heavy combat boots were gone, replaced now by leather sneakers.

“Tormund,” she said, glancing discreetly at her watch. “What is it you want us to talk about exactly?”

Tormund paused and looked at her. “I don’t know. I just—”

“Because if you asked me to stay just to shame me—”

“No!” He protested loudly, waving his hands. “No, Brienne. No. No.”

Brienne stood up, putting her backpack on her shoulder. “Then what is it? Because over the past month, I had—” she sniffed, her throat getting tight—“I had to accept that the friendship we had is over. And that wasn’t easy, Tormund. I’ve apologized so many times, but you were not there. And maybe it’s unfair but that hurt. I don’t expect you to forgive me but at least _I_ was sorry. I regretted hurting you.”

“I was so angry at you,” Tormund admitted.

“You had to vanish off the face of the earth?”

“I was hurt.”

“I never forgot. But you hurt me too.”

Tormund hung his head, hugging his nape with his entwined hands. “I know.”

Brienne, who had been staring at her sneakers, raised her head to look at him. “What happens now? What do you want from me?”

Before Tormund could answer, someone tapped lightly on the door. They turned around and Brienne gave a start. _“Jaime.”_

“Hey,” Jaime greeted her. Wind-rumpled hair. Beaten leather jacket. Brienne hid her blush as her body suddenly warmed. He hugged her around the waist, pressing quick kiss on her lips that she felt right to her core.

“Jaime,” she said, blushing even more from how breathless she sounded. Gesturing at Tormund, she continued, “This is—”

“Hey, I know you,” Jaime told Tormund, offering his left hand. “You work for my friend Bronn.”

There was no faltering in his smile at Tormund’s initial confusion over why he was being offered the left hand. He must have seen the prosthetic because he quickly offered his own left hand. A brief handshake then Jaime returned to Brienne’s side, his arm once again around her waist.

“We’ve met?” Tormund asked, steering his eyes from Jaime’s prosthetic resting by her hip.

“Sort of,” Jaime explained. Then, realizing he must have interrupted them, he said, “I’ll wait outside. Sorry, did you get my message, Brienne?”

“That was you?” She asked. “I wasn’t able to see it because—” she glanced at Tormund again.

“I thought to have a quick word with Brienne,” Tormund explained, looking at Jaime with a slight frown.

“And I won’t get in the way,” Jaime kissed her suddenly on the mouth. Brienne kissed him back despite her surprise. He nibbled on her lower lip gently before letting go. “I’ll wait outside.”

“I won’t be long,” she promised, watching him go and close the door. She turned back to Tormund. “That was—”

“Jaime. Yeah. I remember. We’ve met,” Tormund said, blinking rapidly. “Right. Yeah. It was a while back. I think he came to the shop for some alterations. My boss must have pointed me out.”

“Bronn?” Brienne asked.

“Yeah,” Tormund nodded. “It slipped my mind. I was. . .busy that day.”

Brienne glanced at the door then back to him. “I wasn’t fucking Jaime while I was fucking you Tormund. I don’t owe you any explanation, but I want you to know that.”

“Looks like you’re not just fucking him.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not. It’s just. . .” Tormund threw another look at the door before turning back to her. He didn’t disguise the pain and longing in his stare. “I really care about you, Brienne. I thought I could change your mind about caring for me that way.”

“I wanted to.”

“Shit.” Tormund suddenly blurted out, looking at the floor then back to her. His smile was shaky. “You shouldn’t have said that. It’s harder. Seeing you now really hurts. And knowing you’re with him—”

“Please don’t hate him,” she spoke quietly. “He had nothing do with us. I met him after you.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I know. I remember him now. He comes to the shop a few times. He’s alright. Brienne, I’m sorry.”

It was the first sentence he had spoken since asking her to stay after class with certainty. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I was hurt but it was no excuse to hurt you and do the things I did. I’m sorry for ignoring your calls. For not reaching out.”

“What’s done is done,” she said, biting her lip. “There’s no undoing it.”

Tormund was looking at her as if memorizing the pattern of her freckles, the blue of her eyes. She looked away. He sighed.

“You’re right.”

 

******

 A few nights later found Jaime and Brienne shouting their pleasure to the ceiling as they came. He had to squeeze his eyes shut, feeling his soul about to depart this earthly plane. Brienne wheezed and panted against him, still pinned against his chest. His fingers were buried deep in her pussy. The tight entrance of her ass gripped his cock.

Though they had yet to catch their breath, Jaime couldn’t resist taking Brienne’s mouth again. His thumb played with her swollen and abused clitoris, causing her to tighten again. She grunted against his tongue.

He should pull out. Give her some relief. His cock was beginning to soften inside her. Her cunt felt very plump and soft.

His need of her was satisfied for now but it never lasted long. He had always liked to fuck and being with Brienne was a reminder why he enjoyed it so much. She was strong and tight, supple-skinned and always eager for more. And then her eyes—there was no resisting them, especially when they gleamed like dark sapphires when she fell apart in his arms. She was riveting to watch—she looked uglier than she did, but he could never look away.

His fingers were the first pull out of her, making a loud squelching noise as they slipped from her much-used cunt. She squirmed in his arms, the red spreading quickly from her shoulder to her hip telling him the sound embarrassed her. Next, he pulled his cock out. Her asshole looked very pretty, pink and swollen.

He sat up, smirking at how slick his fingers were that that he could see his reflection in them.

Her sexy little moan followed by her dripping thighs squeezing his hand roused him into slowly pulling his fingers out of her. They were so slick he could probably check his reflection on them.

Brienne moved to lay on her stomach. Another kiss on her sweaty shoulder then he got up, glancing between her thighs. He knew what to do.

Her bathroom did not have a compartment for towels, except for cleaning materials and another for her toothbrush, tampons, lotions and facial wash. He went outside, peeking at her dresser to find a pile of towels there. Pulling out one, he then ran it briefly under warm water, wrung it then went back to bed.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing her on the shoulder as he started cleaning her up. She sighed and purred.

“That feels so nice,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Doing things one-handed was still difficult and slow. For once, he did not miss his hand, nor did he wish to finish the process. A soft smile lit up his face at her long, soft sigh of content as he wiped her thighs. He finished, putting the towel away in the bathroom. He washed his cock then rejoined her in bed.

She turned to him, finding a nook for her head by his neck and shoulder as he opened his arms. She drew the blanket over them, tucking it around them to make sure they were covered securely. They lay looking at each other.

“This time next week I’ll be in Tarth,” she said. “I don’t know how I’ll sleep without you.”

He held her closer. He didn’t know how to manage it either. Since setting eyes on each other, they had not spent a night apart.

“Well. . .you can avail my services. I do believe I’m a far dirtier talker than you,” he teasted.

“Gods, asking you to fuck me right under my dad’s roof with my stepmom and her kids just about.” Brienne kissed him on the chest, rubbing her lips on the hairy surface. “If only.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Are you okay with them? You’ve spoken to your dad?”

She nodded. Once a week she spoke to her Dad on the phone for a few minutes. Jaime would duck out of the room during this time to give her privacy. He didn’t know if there was some improvement in the relationship between father and daughter. Since she didn’t really bring him up, Jaime didn’t broach the subject.

“He said he has something to tell me, but it has to be in person. With my luck, I’m probably about to have another brother or sister.” She tried to be nonchalant, but he saw the haunted look in her face. He knew. It meant one person that would push her away from family.

No matter the age difference between them, and the experiences that could bar them from understanding each other, some things they agreed on and understood. The need to belong was one. Jaime still had Cersei and Tyrion, but they had their own families and lives already. He could always trust them but there was no denying the knowledge how he could easily be an unwelcome intruder despite their invitation and open arms. You never felt that way with a parent.

And when he lost his hand, he had really wished for Tywin to be alive. Not to fight at his side as he struggled with accepting being crippled for life. Jaime wanted his father just so someone was there. Tywin had never been there for his children, but one would remain a fool, no matter how many times this lesson had been taught.

He was not alone. Cersei had cried for their mom and Selwyn when she lost her baby. Tyrion had turned to the bottle as he struggled to ensure the diner remained, worried over the money being lost as each day people went to other restaurants with their fancy themes and slick servers. Jaime still longed for Tywin’s presence, bitter as it was, on nights his stump hurt.

“I can go with you,” he offered, his thumb stroking the pulse at her neck. “We can stay somewhere else in Tarth. I don’t have to meet your dad if you don’t want.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him. “But I’ll be okay. I—I need to face this myself, whatever it is.”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

She nodded. “Thanks for being with me, Jaime. Thank you for giving me that.”

His brave, broken angel. He gathered her in his arms, scattering kisses up and down her cheek. “Oh, Jaime,” she murmured. She hugged him back, covering his neck and shoulder with kisses. “Gods, how you’ve made things bearable.”

He grinned as she flattened him on the bed none too gently, then climbed over him. As her heated little kisses covered his chest, she asked, “What will you do while I’m gone?”

He gripped her by the nape, pulling her up to still her. Her kisses on his wrist and palm made his cock stir.

“Think,” he admitted. “About things.”

Brienne paused and dropped back to his side. “Do you want to talk about them?”

It was really sweet how she still asked him this. He had fucked her in every way possible, gotten to know the woman behind those beautiful, expressive eyes. She had undone him with a touch, a gaze, gotten closer to him than anyone since the loss of his hand. But she was still young. Innocent and slowly navigating her way into the relationship while he had easily dived all in and just taken where it needed to go.

His heart swelled.

“I. . .don’t know if I can go back to work.” He said carefully, trying not drown in her eyes. Not now. “I’m meeting my former boss while you’re gone and will be telling him my decision.”

Brienne propped herself up with a fist under her chin. Her other hand caressed his chest in gentle, barely-there motions.

“Is that. . .are you okay with that?” She asked. “I’m not questioning if you’re sure, Jaime. I just want to know you’re alright with it.”

“I honestly don’t know. I still have a few months left before I have to make my decision but. . .I just don’t have the will to be in the frontlines of ensuring justice anymore. I don’t see the point of dragging out the wait.”

Jaime had been wrestling with the decision for a while and had discussed it with his counselor. Brienne only knew of his misgivings and he didn’t think to discuss more of it with her, not until he was more sure. The choice was the hardest to make, and there was still fear. It would always be there—another truth he had accepted with much difficulty.

And given how Aerys had hurt his family and came close to murdering him, Jaime didn’t want to put Brienne through anything like that. He believed in her strength. Her courage was unquestionable. But subjecting her to that kind of life was an unnecessary risk.

Jaime also did not wish a repeat of those hellish first weeks following the assassination attempt. He had done his share in putting an end to crime. Crime will never go away but it was no longer his fight. It was a bitter pill to swallow but he had lost all passion in the crusade for justice. He would rather turn away from whatever else this career path promised him, knowing he had done what he could rather than return without any drive. He couldn’t fail anyone being like that.

“I should have told you more about it,” he said. “But I needed to know first for myself.”

“I understand. I do,” she assured him, cuddling closer. “I just want you to be sure. This is huge, Jaime.”

“Fuck. I know,” he sighed, shifting closer as she pulled him to her chest. “All my life I’ve wanted to a public prosecutor but now it’s just. . .”

“What?”

He blurted out the first word to come to mind. “It’s ashes in my mouth.”

Brienne looked at him. “Ashes?”

He nodded.

“There will always be a part of me scared that another criminal like Aerys would hurt my family or worse,” he admitted. “I’ve made my peace with that. But I’ll never forget what happened to Cersei. To me. I’ve given too much of myself, Brienne. The time has come for me to leave this fight. Find another way to fight.”

“Just. . .just as long as you’re sure, Jaime. You know yourself best.” Brienne said after a few moments of quiet. “And I’ll be here no matter your decision. I don’t love you because you’re willing to fight and do what’s right. I love you for you.”

It took exactly six seconds for her words and what they meant to sink in, and another two to realize exactly what happened. His face lit up just as she gasped, flinging a hand to her mouth. Before she quickly turned away to hide under the blanket, he glimpsed her very red face.

“You love me,” he whispered.

“Oh, my gods,” she groaned.

“Seven hells, you fucking love me!” He exclaimed, throwing himself on top of her. He yanked the blanket from her, turning her to see her redder face and very blue eyes. She looked absolutely mortified and so fucking kissable. Fuckable too, he thought, grunting as his hardening cock thrust at her thigh. She whimpered, glancing briefly between her bodies. He smiled as her cunt’s sweet, spicy musk hit his nose. She was wet.

“I didn’t mean—” she tried to explain but he cut her off with a long, passionate kiss. It didn’t take her long to moan and kiss him back with equal fervor.

He was not gentle. Bit and dragged her fat nipples deep in his mouth, her sharp squeals encouragement rather than caution to his ears. Buried his cock in the sticky depths of her pussy, her cries muffled against his relentless mouth. She fisted his hair while he kept one of her legs drawn high over his shoulder, the angle deepening his frantic, inelegant thrusts. _She loved him._ The thought was a drug. Remembering it was like taking a hard hit of the perfect blend of sweet, forbidden chemicals. He was lit all over.

He gave her no respite from the aftermath. As she panted and lay limp on the bed, he licked the slim threads of sweat striping her tits and stomach before latching on to her pussy. She was a juicy heaven of her honey and his semen. Her wail and fingers pushing through his hair were the only encouragement needed to bury his nose in her vanilla and sex-scented pussy before his tongue dipped for a taste, then pushed firmly inside.

He drank from her cunt with the thirst of a man wandering the desert for years. Fucked her with his fingers as if to scoop out the rarest pearl from deep in her depths. Over and over his tongue delved between her soaked folds or parted them eagerly with his fingers. His lips tugged and dragged her clit from between her labia, his bearded cheeks quashing the plump folds and scraping the pinker, more sensitive flesh inside. She screamed, lurching against him sharply as if to free herself.

He kissed her harder. Pushed his face at her cunt as if to wear it.

She squirted on his palm and down the wrist as she came, her moans muffled by his bruising kisses. His cock was killing him, desperate to be inside her. The acute pain of arousal went on for another breath before shoving his cock in the wet, widened warmth of her. She squeezed around him with a moan, liquid sapphire eyes staring up at him before closing as his tongue plunged between her lips.

Later he held her limp, sweaty body to his chest, caressing her back, her nape, kissing her on the cheek and the nose. His cock lay limp and long between them, gleaming with her juices. It gave him an animalistic thrill feeling his semen trickling from her pussy then toward his thigh. By the gods. If he were a younger man he would fuck her all night.

_She loved him._

 Jaime held her, breathing sharply from the sweet devastation of her words. He will never be the same.

 

*********

In the days leading to her departure for Tarth, Brienne was caught up in a flurry of arrangements. As promised, Shae switched the schedules of the waitresses around, sparing Brienne the burden of going around and asking them to cover her for a few days. She paid the rent and other utilities, arranged for Margaery to take her mail in the four days she would be gone.

She turned in work in her classes early, not wishing to be burdened by them on her return. There was no major exam she will be missing. The final won’t be for another month, so she had more than enough time to study.

Tormund still wouldn’t sit next to her in Howland Reed’s class. She had gotten used to it. He didn’t miss any session anymore. He sat at the back. Once or twice, he had given her a hopeful look and she always ignored it. She was sorry for how things had ended with them but there was nothing to do if he insisted carrying a torch for her. He needed to meet someone real fast. It was the only way he could move on.

Though she and Jaime never spent a night apart, they still had their own lives. Jaime played poker with Bronn and other guys one night a week. Brienne went to the movies with Margaery and Renly, or joined them for dinner at Marge’s place. The three of them resumed their breakfast tradition too, with Jaime sometimes joining them when he could drag himself out of bed early enough. 

As fun as spending time with her friends went, the one thing she really looked forward to in the day was being with Jaime. No matter whose apartment they were in for the night, she could look forward to his tender kisses welcoming her home, his hand roaming her body before they worked to free their bodies from those wretched clothes.

They kept different sleeping hours because of her phone job. As he slept, she slipped into various personas for those hours she put life into the fantasy of her callers. Sometimes Jaime got up to press a sleepy kiss on her forehead or bring her a glass of water.

It was for these gestures why Brienne refused to fault him for taking the time to say back the very words she had uttered to him several nights ago. Proud of Jaime for making another crucial step in his life following the attempt on his life, she had let her heart rule her mind. There were no regrets. But she wished to have kept it to herself longer. They have been together for only a month. Sometimes they behaved like an old couple although there was still much to learn and know from each other.

Nothing could change how she felt about Jaime, but she didn’t want him pressed to say those three words back at her. Even if it took a year.

The night before her departure for Tarth, she stayed over at Jaime’s. They ate pizza on the bed, kissing between cheesy bites. When they were full, she stashed the rest of the pizza in the fridge and returned to the bedroom.

 He was sitting up, hand tucked between nape and pillow. He was dressed in a rumpled t-shirt and baggy boxers. Brienne smiled, liking how relaxed and content he looked. It was a stark contrast to the man she had first laid eyes on at Hollard’s. He had been angry at the world, then.

He looked happy.

“Wait,” he suddenly said, causing her to freeze by the door.

“What is it?”

He shrugged, giving her a little smile. “Nothing. I just want to look at you.”

She blushed as his tender gaze ran from the top of her tousled hair, her body clad in a t-shirt and his old boxers, lingering between her thighs before heading for her legs. His eyes shifted back to her face.

“I’m going to feel those four days, sweetheart. And I’m not talking about my cock.”

She went to him, snuggling immediately against his chest when his arms enveloped her. “It almost makes me not want to go too.” She hoped he didn’t find out about one of his used t-shirts in her suitcase. It smelled of his sweat and soft, lemony fragrance. He won’t be there to hold her, but his scent would be a comfort.

She squeezed him tighter as his lips roamed the top of her hair. Gods, she was being silly. She was going _home_. “Come on. Take me with you. I told you, no need to introduce me to your dad if you don’t want to. The man has a gun. The longer we don’t meet, the better.”

“You don’t strike me as a coward, Jaime Lannister,” she said, moving to rest her chin on his chest. Gazing at him adoringly, she rubbed his stump on her cheek. “No. You’ve never walked away from a fight in your life.”

“I’m about to,” he reminded her.

She shook her head. “There are always battles to choose from. You’ve fought one. Now’s the time for another.”

“You think me the Warrior, sweetheart?”

“That. And you’re also my Jaime.” Brienne kissed his scars. “Can’t you wait until I get back to talk to the D.A.? I just. . .you don’t have to be alone.”

It should be terrifying how she would take a bullet for this man. She could never protect him from every pain but wanted to be there for him in every way he’d let her. He was going to make a monumental decision. Decisions like that won’t be upon her for a while but it helped to have someone hold your hand through it.

“Worried?” he asked, his dimples deepening.

She shook her head. “I trust you. But if there’s a way to make it easier, I’d like to be there.”

“You’re with me even when you’re not around, Brienne. I’m making this choice because you’ve helped me so much. I had fought so long the man I thought I had become because of what I’ve lost. It was you who showed me I’m not hopeless. I’m broken but not weak. You taught me that.”

Moved, she took his stump and kissed it deeply. She could never find his scars ugly. She could never recoil from them. They were proof of the man he had become. Marks of the man she loved.

They fucked through the night. It was a like their first time, when they could not get enough of each other. When every sensation felt new and arousing.

Swollen mouths refused to stop kissing. Hands could not touch enough. There was always an area of skin yet to be skimmed, remembered. Her back was numb from hours of lying on it, happily helpless from the ceaseless plunder of his cock. Her pussy was sore. Very tender. Cramps seized her legs she eagerly wrapped them around his back, pressed her heels at the base of his spine to take more of his cock, him, deeper in her. She fell in the heated depths of his emeralds.

The moon shone in her eyes as his cock split into her cunt, pumping into her with a rhythm that  that left her breathless, broken and whole. She begged him to take her however he wanted, in all the ways he wanted. And he did. Everything that could be done in the hours before her departure, they did.

She would refuse the shower, wanting to take his scent and their smell with her for as long as she could. She really would. It was Jaime who had to remind her, gently, playfully, kisses punctuating every word, that Selwyn Tarth would probably ban his daughter from coming back if she arrived smelling so sexy and debauched.

There wasn’t enough soap that they could use. She laughed at his suggestion to just clean here with his soapy body. “There must be something,” she insisted, stepping out of the stall. Dripping on the floor, she looked in the mirrored cabinet on top of the sink.

Shaving kit, cream, aftershave, toner, moisturizer and lube greeted her upon opening the cabinet. He had jars of styling cream, shampoo. As she found one bar of soap, the familiar colors of bottles at the bottom of the shelf got her eye.

Holding her breath, she took the two bottles and stared at them. She looked at Jaime, who was now rinsing himself. His profile faced her. She watched water fall on his face, drip down his square jaw then his throat. His hand combed through his hair. Water trickled from the tip of his cock.

“Brienne, you don’t want to miss your flight,” he said, turning to look at her. He squinted at her through the glass partition then used his stump to rub it. “What do you have there?”

“Vanilla Pop and Caramel Surprise,” she told him.

He stared at her through the glass before turning off the shower. The door slid open and he stepped out, looking like a wet, half-drowned god. He glanced at the bottles she was holding, his expression inscrutable.

“Remember when we first began to talk,” he said. “And I asked how your cunt smelled?”

She nodded. “That was so long ago. I forgot I told you.”

“I kept calling you because only you could silence those demons in me. I just needed to forget what I’ve become when I first called you. Instead, you showed me who I am.” He nodded at the bottles. “I got those because. . .back then you were just this idea. A voice. Those scents told me you were real. Back then I thought it was all I’ll have.”

Brienne put the bottles on the sink and went to him. Jaime sighed, hugging her around the waist as she threw her arms around his shoulders.

“I love you, Brienne.”

 

*******  


Tarth was almost two hours by plane. Brienne used the time to sleep—or rather, to have what little of it that was only possible being that she was sat with a group of two rowdy families with children no older than ten. Once the seatbelt sign was off, they were off their seats, running up and down the aisle until a flight attendant went to the adults. Stuck to their seats, the children resolved to give every passenger hell with their demands to go to the bathroom, for cheeseburgers and teary requests to go back home.

Brienne’s nap wasn’t restful. Even if she could manage it for a few minutes, her heart wouldn’t stop racing. _I love you,_ Jaime had said.

After telling her this, they fucked on the bath mat. Jaime wanted to drag her to bed, fuck her proper but she had pushed him to the floor, climbed on top and silenced him with a kiss. She didn’t care where he fucked her or how. They laughed about it later and were still laughing about it when he called her a cab.

And then, for some inexplicable reason, she started to cry.

It was embarrassing and funny, and Jaime kissed her through her tears and wet laughs. Public displays of affection made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t care this time. Wide, open-mouthed kisses, tongue—she kissed him in every sweet, passionate and highly improper manner she could think of.

And he kissed her back.

He loved her. He really loved her.

A soft laugh issued from her throat again. And then tears. She grinned, rubbing her eyes.

Her vision had cleared by the time she saw the clear, sapphire waters of Tarth. Despite the pain of this place, it was home. She had ridden a plane before yet couldn’t resist looking out the window as the pilot circled the runway before touching down.

Her only luggage was the carry-on stashed in the overhead bin, and her backpack. Four days. The longest four days of her life. As she joined the other passengers making their way down the aisle, she wondered if it wasn’t too late to ask Jaime to fly here.

Smelling the sun and feeling her pores slowly open from the heat didn’t ease her misgivings, despite the familiarity of the place. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Jaime, asking her to message him when she had arrived. She quickly typed one then put her phone away.

Because Tarth was a small island, there was hardly the need for a public transportation system. There was the bus, of course, and from the long line, she calculated it would take her twenty minutes before getting in. The best and still the only way to get around Tarth was with a motorbike or a scooter. There were private cars, but they were still very few.

Brienne sighed. She was going to have to take the bus. And from the stop, walk six blocks with her carry-on and backpack. The airport was cool but the glare of the sun outside promised boiling temperatures. She was already sweaty—her armpits unpleasantly damp and her jeans beginning to cling.

She got out of the airport, wincing from the sun blasting her right in the face. Shielding her eyes, she squinted at the bus stop.

“Brienne? Zaphyre?”

Startled, she turned and saw him.

His hair was no longer pale blond like hers but a shock of white. His eyes gleamed very blue and bright against his deeply tanned face. She stared disbelievingly at the tall, stocky man heading toward her. Her jaw dropped as he laughed. Her mouth remained open as he swept her up in his big arms and twirled around, bags and all.

Like she was still a little girl.

Then she laughed, followed by tears. Shaking and beginning to believe, she hugged him back tightly, smooshing her face to his shoulder. There. The scent of the sea and the sun. The mint of his aftershave.

_“Dad!”_

Selwyn Tarth held her as if he was never letting go. “My Zaphyre,” he said softly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

 

******

Jaime, who made it habit to always arrive on time, forgot that when it came to Barristan Selmy, one had to be earlier. The man always arrived exactly one minute before the time. Given the news Jaime was about to deliver his boss, the correct thing would be to get it over and done with by arriving earlier than the other man.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you wait,” Jaime said as they shook hands. Barristan waved away his apology and reached out to clasp his left hand.

Barristan Selmy was a member of the exclusive gentleman’s club called Mockingbird. Strictly serviced and staffed by men, for men, it forbade women from entering the premises, unless absolutely necessary. In this space, men could read in peace, play their cards, or make private dealings that could shape the world of tomorrow.

Before Aerys had gunned for him, Barristan was bent on recruiting Jaime. Not a word of it had been spoken again. And with what Jaime was about to tell him, no more would be mentioned of it again.

He had bought a new suit, a rich, dark davy paired with a plain white shirt and a slim black leather belt. He almost looked like his old self if not for the long hair and the beard. Two weeks ago, he had shaved it clean. He preferred to wear only a bit of scruff but Brienne, blushing furiously, had asked if he would mind growing it back again.

“You’re worth the wait, Jaime. Don’t you know that by now?” Barristan remarked, giving him a quick but genial smile. Tall and elegant, he looked right at home in the old-fashioned surroundings of dark wood and richly upholstered furniture. The two men sat down, and a server quickly appeared.

“I’ll have a brandy. The young gentleman here prefers bourbon. Straight.” Barristan said. The server was gone before Jaime could refute and insist on water.

“You look well,” Barristan told him. “The sabbatical has done you good, Jaime.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sir?” Barristan chuckled. “Care to explain why we’ve reverted to this formality?”

The server reappeared, putting the glasses on the table. Jaime murmured his thanks but didn’t reach for the drink as Barristan did.

“I’ll get straight to the point, Jaime. You’ve been missed. And you’re needed. I need you. The DA’s office have too many pit bulls. I need a lion. That’s you. You still have three months left but if you’re coming back, and I hope you are, I request that you return by next week.” Barristan looked at him in the eye. “What do you say?”

Jaime began to see the wisdom of having alcohol present. He didn’t dare use his prosthetic despite having some skill in picking things up now. With his left hand, he took a sip of the bourbon. He grimaced, feeling it go right through his head.

“I’ll be retiring in three years, Jaime. I want that office in the best hands.” Barristan caught himself and shook his head. “I apologies. In the best hand.”

 _District attorney_. A dream he’d had for nearly his whole life. Jaime could practically taste the sweetness of it.

“Your support is more than I deserve, sir,” he began. “That’s why it pains me to say no.”

Barristan stared at him wordlessly for a good moment. Then another. Jaime refused to squirm under his scrutiny.

“Is that your final decision?” Barristan asked quietly.

He nodded. “I did not make it lightly. But. . .I’m no longer the man you need for that, sir. I’m not a lion anymore.”

“Are you turning your back from law altogether?”

“I can’t do that. I still wish to practice it in some capacity.”

“Don’t disappoint me by saying you’re going to spend the rest of your life drafting contracts for business takeovers.”

Jaime couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t believe that’s where my path is headed.”

Barristan considered his words. “I hope it’s not treacherous.”

Brienne’s face sprang to mind. “No, sir. But definitely uncharted. Worth the journey. I know it in my heart.”

“I’m not at all pleased to see you go, Jaime. You’re the best. I won’t stop thinking that about you.” Barristan took his glass and raised it to him. “To uncharted paths, then?”

Jaime took his glass and clinked it to his. “To uncharted paths worth the journey.”

 

******

Brienne’s euphoria over her dad’s surprise appearance at the airport began to wane as he turned the car towards Isle Drive. Nothing had changed. Same houses with paint faded from the sun. Same yards, the patches of brown still on the same spots with no change in size. Even the wail of a rusty swing swaying in the wind sounded the same.

She directed her attention to their house, quietly taking deep breaths for calm.

“So,” she began, stealing a glance at her dad. “Uh, how’s everyone? Like. . .” she wracked her brain. “Is Selyse. . .um, still growing roses?”

She could never get her stepmother’s name right. They had met so briefly. A week before the wedding. Then two weeks after the honeymoon, Brienne left for Kingsland. Things were changing so fast then, it never occurred to her she was never really going home again.

Selwyn gave a noncommittal nod. That wasn’t odd. Though she was close to her dad growing up, things had broken down between them when he revealed his plans after she left for college. She never hated him for wanting to love again. What hurt was he never made her part of that decision.

That hurt she had bottled and could forget on most days. But being home, knowing what was waiting for her—it almost choked her.

Selwyn pulled up in the driveway, carefully parking before killing the engine. Brienne kept her eyes outside the window, scanning the house for signs of Selyse and one of her stepsiblings.

“Zaphyre,” Selwyn began, clearing his throat. “Before we go in there, there’s something I need to tell you first.”

Brienne turned and shrugged at him. “It’s alright, Dad. I know. I’ll be sleeping on the couch. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

“No. You won’t be sleeping on the couch. You can, if you want to. Your old bedroom is still there. I had it fixed as best as I could remember—the way you liked it.”

“But that’s now two rooms,” Brienne pointed out, frowning. “Where are the. . .kids. . .sleeping? Did you get another place?” Then it hit her. Feeling sick, she stared at her dad, trying not to cry. “Am I like. . .is this where I’ll stay from now on? There’s. . .there’s no room for me in your new house?”

“What? No, no. Brienne.” Selwyn looked horrified at the distress on her face. He sighed and opened his arms. Brienne hesitated then threw herself in his arms.

“Zaphyre, that’s not the case at all,” he soothed her. She sobbed, pressing her face on his shoulder and trying to quiet the whimpers desperate to escape her throat.

Being called by her old childhood nickname and having her dad’s hand running up and down her back—she was almost home. Except that she didn’t know that anymore. He kissed her on the forehead and she sighed, pulling away from him. She flushed as he thumbed away her tears. Gentle sapphire eyes looked at her.

“I’ve made things so difficult for you, haven’t I?” Selwyn asked softly. “I made such a mess of things.”

“What are you talking about, Dad?”

Selwyn sighed and smoothed the hair from her cheeks. “Selyse and I are getting a divorce. She and the children moved out a while back.”

“What? Why—why didn’t I know that?” Brienne jerked away from his touch and glared at him. “Dad, I know I’m only your daughter but when you make decisions like that—marrying her, making me a sister to people I didn’t know existed until they walked through our door and now divorcing her, them— _you fuck with me_!”

Shocked by her language, Selwyn protested, “Brienne. Zaphyre, honey—”

“You’ve hurt me so much! You made me feel unwanted. A burden. You’re my Dad and I know Mom dying fucked you up but what about me?” She demanded. _“What about me?”_

Selwyn’s shoulders sank. “I’m so sorry.”

“About what? You—you won’t even talk to me about Mom. You refused to let me taste her favorite dish. Then—then you brought these new people into our lives. People that you’ve known for years but never thought to tell me. And now you’re telling me you’re divorcing? What do you expect me to do?”

Brienne was already mad. When a fresh bout of tears poured out of her, she was furious.

“You’re the only family I have,” she whispered. “And when you suddenly married Selyse. . .right before I left. . .it was like you’ve discarded me, Dad. It was worse than when Mom died.”

Her chin wobbled as she rubbed the tears sharply from her eyes. Beside her, Selwyn could only stare at their house.

“I was wrong. I thought by not talking about your mother it would be easier for you. For us. I loved her so much, Brienne. There is no other defense. But it’s the only explanation I have for what I did. Selyse. . .she cared about me. I thought that was love again.”

“I don’t fault you for that. Bu t you did push me away. I love my Mom too, Dad. I never knew her but I do. I wanted. . .if there was a chance to have a love like that, who am I to stop you? I just wish. . .” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t form any more words. She was too tired.

“I’m so sorry, my dear.” Selwyn reached for her hand. Brienne stared at their joined hands. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“How sure are you the divorce is not another mistake?” She asked.

Selwyn let out a long, heavy sigh.

“I can’t love anyone as I loved your mother. I wanted that so much, Brienne. But. . .she took my heart with her when she left.”

Brienne stared at him. Trying to understand. Seeing her father for probably the first time in her life.

Two broken people. Trying to mend. She cradled his hand in hers and kissed it. Selwyn watched her, his expression still apologetic.

“You’re all that matters to me, Brienne. I should not have let you doubt that.”

She nodded, holding his hand to her cheek. “Do you forgive me, honey?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she answered honestly. She would forgive him for anything and everything. “Let’s go home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left!


	10. A Life to Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It doesn’t end, does it?” She asked, touching his cheek, taking his stump to kiss it.  
> “What?”  
> “Wanting you.” She said it as a fact. Not a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Here's the ending!
> 
> Thank you to Kristilove for the prompt. As challenging as this went because it's new to me, coupled with how the TV series ended, I was able to finish. This has always been a labor of love.

_Lys, some years later_

Their third summer in Lys. And the last.

The drive home from the women’s center was short but Brienne felt she was on the road for hours. Despite the AC on full blast, the car was still as hot as an oven. Her lightweight, cotton clothes were soaked with sweat. More freckles covered her arms. The spots multiplied the hotter it got.

The climate of Lys was generally mild but the summers were scorchers. It felt _hot_ to breathe, like inhaling dragonfyre. The weather report warned of higher levels of heat and humidity this time. Brienne didn’t question it. She had been cursed with migraine for a week. Even with the AC  in the bedroom, she and Jaime had difficulty sleeping.

Except for the heat, and an early struggle with the language and their jobs, their time at Lys  had been beautiful. It was not a description that would usually apply to the country. Once thriving and projected to be a major global player in business, the sudden outbreak of a civil war had destroyed it, setting back its progress to at least a generation. For five years, warring Lyseni laid waste to the land. Though peace terms have been reached, some insurgencies remained.

Women and children suffered the most from the war. When Brienne finally decided on a major, she steered her studies towards civilian casualties and suffering in countries riddled with conflict. This helped her write a thesis that got the attention of two other universities besides Westeros University that offered a full academic scholarship should she pursue further studies.

Her first year out of college had been a triumph personally and professionally. She and Jaime moved in together, and she earned the respect of her professors and slowly made a name for herself. Jaime rented out his bigger Lion Avenue apartment for extra income and they lived in a more modest accommodation.

Despite offers from big corporations, law firms and the government. Jaime picked to work in Legal Aid next. He also taught part-time in law school. Brienne quit her job at Hollard’s and worked full-time at the phone sex hotline, since a regular allowance now came with her scholarship. She also worked at the Kingsland Women’s Center, which shaped her thesis.

Her work at the center and continuing research led to publications. Jaime continued to make waves too and would still refuse offers from major law firms. After grad school, Brienne was offered a teaching position at Westeros University.

A year later, a job offer came from Nations of the World (NOW)—to both of them. Jaime was offered the position as legal adviser for international criminal law and human rights, concentrating on the aftermath of the civil war in Lys. The women and children division of NOW also wanted Brienne on the ground to establish a center that would provide counseling, health care and family education, while working closely with the local population. 

It was too good an opportunity to pass up, although the three-year assignment was hard to swallow. They closed up their apartment, said goodbye to family and friends then moved the other side of the world.

The first year demanded so much from them. In spite of what they have read and all the preparations they did, they were not prepared for how destroyed Lys was. The economy was basically dead. Infrastructure destroyed. There was no president or minister because there was no money nor any other resource to make holding elections possible. Lys was still bleeding.

Everyday, Brienne had to listen to stories of abuse and inhumanities she never thought possible could ever be inflicted. Jaime also had to oversee the investigation and hunt for the warlords and their associates that had sanctioned human rights abuses. They fell in each other’s arms frustrated and defeated.

Once, in the middle of fucking, Brienne burst into tears and begged Jaime to stop. He thought he had hurt her. She revealed that a sixteen-year-old had gone to the center during the day and revealed being raped by soldiers. Because she was still too traumatized to speak of it coherently, she was asked to draw. The pictures terrified Brienne. Jaime held her as she cried. They were not intimate for almost a year, except for the hugs and holding each other in sleep. Fucking had been so central to their relationship. With neither having the drive, they used the time to talk. Get to know each other again.

Brienne could not remember how they found their way back to each other. Maybe they exchanged a look. A touch. A smile. Perhaps a smile. Whatever it was, they found themselves embracing and kissing like there was no tomorrow. She begged Jaime to keep fucking her, that she needed him inside her until sunset and longer. They fucked all over the house, on every furniture and surface, fucked in every way they could. There was laughter. _Lots of it_. Kisses. More kisses than she could remember.

And things got so much easier once they were fucking again. No matter how difficult things got at work, there was Jaime at the end of the day. He truly was the best part of her day, even when he sometimes annoyed her. She looked forward to seeing his dimpled smile, seeing his eyes crinkle. She was eager to be with him in every way. Loved listening to him putter around the house on lazy weekends.

Brienne took the handmade camel-brown leather satchel Jaime gave her on her last birthday from the passenger seat and got out of the car. As she squinted at the small, blue cottage with the screened porch NOW provided for them, she heard the familiar barreling of his sedan towards the drive. Grinning, she turned, shielding her eyes because the sun blasted her right through. The gleam of his red car winked at her.

She stepped aside as he pulled up next to her car. Jaime had to re-learn how to drive with his prosthetic and NOW provided a vehicle that catered specifically to his handicap. Skill and a car had unleashed a daredevil. He liked to drive fast.

“Hi,” she said, opening the door for him. Jaime got out, smiling at her with a mix of admiration and lasciviousness. His emerald eyes looked brighter and more vivid against his tanned face. She blushed as he gazed hungrily at her tits through her blouse. As her breathing quickened, her pussy began to moisten.

The slight flaring of Jaime’s nostrils meant he had scented her. She bit her lip as gave her a knowing look.

“Kiss me,” he commanded softly.

Her face lighting up, she put her bag on the roof of the car and threw her arms around his shoulders. He was warm and smelled faintly of the sun and lemons. Flesh hand and prosthetic cupped her chin as they kissed. She moaned, tasting coffee from his lips and mint. Together they should be bitter, but this was Jaime. He chuckled as she pushed him against the car, causing his head to tilt up at her as the kiss deepened.

She nibbled on his firm lips, kissing him adoringly as her hand fluttered to his bearded chin. His hands slipped from her face to take her around the waist, pulling her shirt from the waistband. His prosthetic pressed on her nape, fusing her mouth hard against him as his tongue pushed deeply. Still kissing, his flesh hand slipped under her blouse to touch the sweaty bare skin of her back.

He pulled away slightly, pressing a line of kisses down her neck as she caressed his sweat-damp hair. “Jaime,” she whispered, arching against him as pulled at the front of her blouse until it opened to reveal one of her tits. A rosy nipple peaked enticingly at him. He grinned and claimed it with a loud slurp.

“You don’t make it easy for me, do you?” He said, looking at her. He palmed her breast, flicking at the wet, swollen nipple.

“What?” She asked, blushing. He was hard against her thigh.

“Resisting you. Maybe you should start wearing bras, Brienne. And I should re-visit the moratorium on your panties.”

She laughed as he nuzzled her neck, pinching her nipple gently. “It’s been years. I’ve become used to it.”

He kissed her firmly on the lips and pointed at the backseat. “Package from Selwyn today.”

“Oh.” Brienne began to button up, giggling at his pout. She gave him her bag. “Will you take this inside?”

She looked in the backseat and grabbed the box. It was heavier than the usual packages her dad sent so it made sense for her to carry it. Jaime’s prosthetic could help him hold, grab, it handled significant weight but not this heavy.

They made their way to the house, with Brienne’s eyes softening at the citrus trees providing shade in the yard, their wild, somewhat overrun garden where they had planted tomatoes, carrots and some herbs. Jaime, getting the keys from his pocket, saw her looking around.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?”

She turned to him. “I’ll miss this place.”

He looked around then, and she watched the remarkable change in his expression, going from cocky to tender by the time his gaze shifted back to her.

“Me too.” Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Fuck. If only you can see how your eyes are looking at me now.”

He kissed her softly on the lips, looked at her again then held the door to their porch. She stood beside him as he unlocked the front door.

“I wonder what Dad sent us this time,” she said, gently shaking the box.

“I hope he got us one of those Highgarden chocolates with the raspberry cream,” Jaime said wistfully. He held the door open and she went inside.

As he went to switch on the AC, Brienne headed to the kitchen counter to put the box there. She got a knife and slit along the packaging tape.

“What do you want for dinner?” Jaime asked, looking in the fridge.

She grinned as she lifted the flaps. “Dare I hope for shepherd’s pie?”

As she pawed through the protective foam balls, he embraced her from behind. She swallowed a little moan as he once again palmed her breasts. He could never touch her enough.

He rested his chin on her shoulder as she opened the box and looked at its contents. “I’ll make you shepherd’s pie on our first night back in Kingsland,” he said, kissing her behind the ear. “Maybe a downgrade for tonight, sweetheart?”

“Are you cooking?”

“And doing the dishes.”

She sighed dramatically and kissed him quickly on the lips. “My hero. That’s why I love you so much.”

“I only aim to please,” he said, returning his chin on her shoulder. “What do you have there?”

Selwyn can be counted on to send them treats like candies, snacks and other products that were difficult to find or unavailable in Lys. Cersei sent them packages too—like the aftershave Jaime preferred and Brienne’s tampon brand, thrown in with photos of her grown children and her husband of six years. The photos would join the collage on a wall, which had Margaery and Renly’s wedding photos and the christening of their first child, Selwyn proudly showing off a catch from the sea, Bronn standing in front of his new storefront, along with photos from their vacations and just random shots of their everyday lives.

Selwyn had sent candied plums from Dorne, which were Jaime’s favorite, as well as several packs of ready-to-eat lemoncakes. Going deeper in the box, Brienne discovered bottles of her favorite bath products.

“I can smell you already,” Jaime declared, making her blush and laugh when she showed him the bottle of Caramel Surprise and Vanilla Pop. “You taste and smell incredible, Brienne, but I do miss those scents on you. Let’s take a bath now.”

“Now?” She squeaked. “We don’t even know what we’re having for dinner yet!”

But Jaime was determined. He grabbed one of the bottles and pulled her by the hand. “There’s pork chops. I’ll cook. Let’s go.”

 

*******  
As water filled the tub, they helped each other undress. Jaime insisted on stripping her naked first. He kissed and caressed her through it, taking deep, long drags of her nipples as he pushed the blouse off her, and taking loud whiffs of her pussy once her skirt dropped.

She helped remove his hand, kissing the bruised, aching stump before pulling off the stocking. Since he was using the prosthetic more, he was wearing it longer. His hand was a new model but there had yet to be a model where it didn’t hurt to wear for hours. She rubbed her lips on the scars, the reddened flesh before taking his lips when she worked on his shirt next.

Jaime lowered his arms as she slipped the shirt off. As he kissed her on the neck, she ran her hands up and down his hairy chest, with brief touches of his arms to trace the veins there.

Scrawny and quite soft  in the middle when they first met, Jaime steadily began working out. He hired a coach specializing in exercises for the handicapped. His program emphasized muscle strength and flexibility, and also included cardio workouts like running to increase his stamina.

The result was a defined, muscular form but without getting too bulky. Though Brienne missed the soft love handles, feeling his abs was a treat. Jaime had always looked good, even with the extra weight. Now in his forties, with gray mixing with his blond hair and his beard darker, he was more irresistible than ever.

And she knew, just by looking in his eyes, that his heart was hers. It was the one thing she could count on living in this difficult country.

Their lips met again, brushing softly, exploring. As Jaime cupped her face with his hand, she loosened his belt. He gripped her face as she lowered the zipper and slipped her hand into his falling pants to cup his cock.

“Harder,” he begged through their kiss, raking his teeth across her lips. _“Brienne, please.”_

She squeezed him, feeling a warm, silver flutter in her stomach as his pubic hairs tickled her wrist. Warm, smooth flesh pulsed in her hand. He gasped and bit her on the shoulder. _“Fuck.”_

He grabbed her by the hair this time, kissing her as she continued stroking him. She had to squeeze her thighs together because her pussy got slicker with every caress. He wrapped an arm around her back, tilting her backward to lip her nipples. She refused to let his cock go.

He backed her none too gently against the dresser, making her gasp and pant. Something crashed to the floor. Several somethings. Each refused to let go, with Jaime practically eating off her face and Brienne furiously rubbing his cock as she squeezed and tugged at his balls. 

“Shit,” he groaned, suddenly stiffening against her. Wide, lust-blown emerald eyes looked at her and she knew. She transferred her hands on her pussy, spreading the lips and feeling juice slithering down her thighs. Her clit rose eagerly from the spread folds.

He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head against her clit, spilling against it. Her lips wrapped around the tip of his ear as he stroked himself quickly, wringing more semen to paint on her pussy and her thighs.

As he fell in her arms, water sloshed to the floor in the bathroom. They stared at the growing mess then back at each other before laughing.

She turned off the tap and helped him put towels on the floor. More water spilled as they climbed in, eliciting another round of laughter. Brienne squeezed more of the Vanilla Pop in the water, to replace what had flooded their floor.

“I never thought I could be this happy,” Jaime suddenly said, half-squinting at her from across the tub.

He was an unbelievably handsome man, but she liked it best when he looked relaxed and content, as he did now.

“In Lys?” She asked, getting a sponge and dipping it in the soapy, fragrant water. She rubbed it on her throat, her arms.

“After the assassination attempt,” he explained. Under the water, he nudged at her foot with his toe. “Until you came along.”

Brienne looked at him, nodding slowly. “I’m glad you picked me in the service that night. I know life won’t be like this,” she added, gesturing around them. “We’re in the harshest, hardest place there is, and we’re leaving with more love than when we first met. When we first arrived. It’s a miracle, I think.”

“Brienne,” he chided her playfully. “How can you think I won’t love you more? Through the years?”

Jaime. The man who snared her heart and always knew how it beat, had memorized its rhythm and knew what she held there more than herself. A surge of new love went through her, and she smiled, then laughed. He grinned and opened his arms.

She went to him, spilling more water on the towels. There was little she could care about with his wet arms around her, his beard scraping her cheek deliciously. “I loved you before I saw you. When I had not even begun a sketch of you in my mind.”

It was like being kissed by fire as his lips warmed her shoulder. “I almost don’t want to go back to Kingsland.”

She brought his hand to her tits and was glad when he started tugging at the tight tissue. “Me neither, honestly.”

Their field assignments were over, and they were coming home with promotions. Jaime was now going to head a new department concerned with laws and investigations of crimes against humanity. Brienne would still be in the same department, but now in a supervisory capacity concerned with employees in the field in various areas of conflict. It entailed travel this time, but her office was in the NOW headquarters in Kingsland.

Kingsland would be very small after what they’ve seen. Though Brienne focused on keeping her career trajectory, Jaime was always the top of her list. No promotion, no professional success could make her as happy as loving him. He was her center. Her light.  

Jaime took the sponge and soaped her, whispering for her to tilt her neck, scoot forward, all while kissing her and playing with her tits. Her nipples stood stiff like wet pink erasers. When his fingers spread to clutch her cunt possessively, her head fell against his shoulder.

“Fuck me,” she grunted hoarsely, throwing one wet leg over the edge of the tub to open herself more. Dazed blue eyes looked at Jaime. _“Please.”_

Her slick fingers wet his hair as she tugged him down for a kiss. As their tongues tangled, his fingers entered her pussy, fucking her. Water sluiced to the floor. She clenched around his long fingers, finding herself getting wetter and hotter at each furious pass. She shrieked against his mouth then collapsed in his arms. White spots were still dancing before her eyes as he hauled her out of the tub and half-dragged her to bed.

Leaving wet footprints on the wooden floorboards, he put her on the edge of the bed and raised and spread her heavy legs. She glimpsed his fiery emeralds right before his head lowered between her thighs.

Followed by the wet slide of his tongue on the seam of her cunt.

_“Jaime.”_

She raised her head, sobbing and gasping from the growing pleasure as his tongue darted in and out of her cunt, collecting her juices. He used his stump to prod her labia open, flicking his tongue on her clitoris. Another wail left her lips, causing her to fall back on the bed and roll her hips eagerly, wantonly.

“Jaime Jaime Jaime,” she breathed, throwing her hands to her face when his lips wrapped around her clitoris and sucked harshly. She squirmed, the force of his kisses and the abrasion of his beard  too intense on this very sensitive part of her. Yet she pumped against his face, poured into his mouth. His lips tightened around her clit as if to pull the swollen bit of flesh from her. As the room began to darken before her eyes, she felt his fingers part her open and fuck her.

Her heart was going to explode out of her chest. Fearing she was going to die, she blindly grasped for Jaime. Found his shoulder first. Clutched at his hair. His stump flattened her thigh on the bed, keeping her spread and helpless. To be helpless with him, like this, was a gift.

Deep in the throes of erotic ecstasy, she once again felt something in her loosen and give. Her long, breathy sigh alerted Jaime. Chuckling through his kiss, he shoved his tongue in her pussy and swirled it, collecting the first drops of her release before she gushed right into his mouth. She groaned as he mashed his face against her pussy, his nose bumping repeatedly at her clit, his mouth spreading her open.

She purred and moaned as he licked her clean. Through half-closed eyes, she watched him prop himself up on his elbows, looking leonine with his tousled hair and the proud grin on his face. Her skin, covered in blush and sweat, flushed a shade darker upon glimpsing how shiny the lower half of his face was.

He bent to kiss her. She clung to him as she sucked her flavor from his tongue. His cock, stiff and leaking, brushed against her cunt. Her hand lowered between their bodies and grasped him. She smiled blearily at him as he gasped before biting her playfully.

“What are you doing?” He whispered against her lips as she rubbed him gently.

“Giving myself  treat,” she answered, kissing him.

“I thought I got a treat this morning,” he said. “And yesterday. And the day before that.”

Speeding up her caresses slightly, she licked his lips. “Well, if you enjoyed it too, I want more of that pleasure.”

“How many times in this week alone did you blow me, sweetheart?” As he spoke, he pumped against her hand, grunting. “You’ve been sucking my cock like you want to unman me.”

She laughed and circled her thumb on the head, knowing he liked it. He dropped his head on her shoulder and groaned. She enjoyed giving him blow jobs but she herself noticed how obsessed she was with his cock this week. Cock-mad. Cock-hungry. Only for Jaime’s.

“Is it becoming an obligation,” she teased, “fucking my mouth?”

“Fuck no,” he gasped as she cupped his balls next. “I wish I can take you to work with me. Keep my cock in your mouth all day.”

“I’d love it if you find a way.”

She only had to nudge him to get him to flip on his back. She moved on top of his body, kissing his collarbones, pinching his nipple, slipping one leg between his thighs. He was still damp from the bath and also sweaty from eating her out. He smelled like dessert. She sniffed the hairs on his chest and slid her gaze toward him. _And man._

Jaime groaned as she pressed her face between his muscular thighs, nuzzling the damp curls. She smiled, rubbing her cheeks on the hairs, kissing the base of his cock. He smelled like rich, freshly baked dessert. And semen. She nosed through the damp cluster of golden curls, licking  sensitive line demarcating his penis from his thigh. He pushed at her hair, holding it by the nape as she opened her mouth wide to take him inside.

She moaned from the taste of him, a combination of something soapy mixed lightly with brine. Her sapphire eyes were dark with lust. As her thick-lipped mouth moved up and down his cock slowly, the sun spilled the last of its rays into the bedroom. The light caressed her back, tracing the gentle undulations of her body as she pulled him deeper into her throat. In the light of the fading afternoon, her gaze was golden.

“Gods, Brienne,” Jaime groaned, watching her mouth open to take more of him in her mouth before her lips pursed. “How can I not love you?”

Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him harder. Licked the long, thick length of him, memorizing the feel of every velvet smooth surface. He fell back on the bed, thighs jerking around her head.

_“The gods fuck me hard, Brienne.”_

Another pass at his cock, this time gleaming golden from her spit and the light of the departing sun. She nuzzled his balls, inhaled loudly. A sweet rush went through her head. He smelled stronger here. She rubbed her nose on the line connecting his cock and balls before opening her mouth to suck one. Then the next. Her wet suckles mixed with his rough cries of pleasure.

She resumed tonguing his cock before engulfing it in her mouth. He felt harder. Longer. His imminent release excited her, caused her cunt to ache. Moaning, she gripped his cock and devoured it—sucking, licking, mouthing, pulling him deep until the tip tickled the back of her mouth. He grabbed her hair, twisted it to the point of pain but she didn’t stop.

Jaime shouted as he came in her mouth, shooting streams right down her throat. She groaned, clenching her mouth around his thrusting member. She drank. Slurped. Swallowed. Took him deeper.

She freed his softened cock moments later, resting her head on his thigh. He smelled thickly of come, spit and vanilla. Her fingers loosened around him as she caught her breath, rustling the sticky pubic curls.

“Come here,” he demanded, his voice tight. “Kiss me.”

Pushing herself up on her hands, she crawled up his body. He caressed her cheek, staring at her slick, red lips and the semen streaked around her chin and throat before looking in her eyes.

“Never learn to swallow like a pro,” he whispered, pulling her down.

“I love you so much, Jaime.”

She slanted her mouth over his and threw herself into the kiss.

 

*****

After dinner, they put resumed a nightly activity: packing up pieces of their life. The house was furnished but they also brought some personal belongings when they moved here and acquired new pieces. Small, framed paintings and prints were shipped to Bronn two weeks ago. He kept them at his shop.

Now they were working through the books. So far, they had packed four boxes. The remainder in the shelf required five more. They called it a day and adjourned to the porch for a much-deserved glass of cold iced tea. Jaime lit up the electric lanterns before settling on one of the padded wicker chairs. Brienne poured the drink into glasses. Her face and arms were filmy  with sweat.

She  looked fucking delectable.

She wore a loose, linen house dress the color of white and ending at the knee. The color washed her out and the relaxed style did not cling to her body. But the dress was thin enough for him to see  puffy, pink aureoles and peaked nipples. He also saw she did not wear underwear.

One of the things that had fascinated him about her was witnessing her blossom into a strong woman. She was still shy, but not on subjects she was passionate about. Her eyes were as blue as when he first saw her, and her hair was still the same length. Her face, while unblemished, had begun to show some lines around the corners of her eyes. He loved that. They appeared whenever she laughed or smiled.

She was never thin or delicate but had definitely filled out through the years. With a job, and a stipend from her grad school scholarship, and a person who made sure she ate more food than his cock, she had gained weight. She looked better. Her tits were still small, but she was no longer as flat. He also liked the slight flare of her hip.

Her hair was always messy. She sweat heavily. But to him she always looked so fucking fresh.

He could only smile as he felt himself stir. It had been silly of him worrying about keeping her satisfied during their first month as a couple. He got hard just from thinking of her. Seeing her in the flesh, smelling her, her taste lingering in the back of his throat, wrapped his cock in sweet pain.

“Here you go,” Brienne handed him drink then sat down next to him. She put her feet up on a matching wicker stool. Jaime watched as she tipped her head back slightly to sip the drink before setting it down on an end table.

“I’ll miss the stars,” she said, looking up. “You don’t really see them back home.”

“We’ve cursed the heat so many times but once we’re freezing our asses off winter, we’ll regret being back there,” he joked, taking a swig of the cold drink. He saw her pick up the glass and press it to her forehead. Putting a hand on her thigh, he asked, “Are you okay?”

She nodded, sliding the glass across her forehead. “Yeah. It’s just that I’ve had migraine all week. I also threw up my breakfast.”

Jaime frowned. “You swallowed fine just a short while ago, sweetheart.” He shook his head. “Brienne. You don’t have to give me a blow job every morning.” She could never lavish his cock with enough kisses but this week. . .on average she had taken him in the mouth three times in a day.

She laughed. “I have no problem with your taste, Jaime. I grabbed a sandwich from the lady selling in the office. It’s not my first time to have her food. It was tuna.”

“What about now?” He asked.

“I’m alright. It’s the weather. It’s so fucking hot.”

“Don’t I know it.” He said, giving her another look to make sure she wasn’t lying. She never lied but didn’t like being sidelined because of a health issue either. Satisfied, he looked at the sky. The sky really was much clearer. The stars seemed within reach.

“I’ll miss the sun here.  And the moon. How the light falls on you. It’s different,” he added when she looked at him. “You in either  light is. . .moving.”

He reached out to pull at the strap of her dress, loosening the loop. Who knew something as ordinary as this could revel such beauty? To the usual eye, it was just a freckled arm. To him, it was Brienne’s freckles, Brienne’s skin. Brienne’s arm.

He leaned forward and she met him halfway, opening her lips slightly for his kiss. Her mouth was cool and sweet from the iced tea. She had the softest, most giving lips.

“It doesn’t end, does it?” She asked, touching his cheek, taking his stump to kiss it.

“What?”

“Wanting you.” She said it as a fact. Not a confession. “Don’t laugh but I miss you even when we’re just apart for a few hours.”

“You don’t like it when I’m not inside you for hours,” he joked, pulling her to straddle his lap. She sighed in exasperation yet took his face in her big hands.

“Part of it,” she conceded, her eyes sparkling. “But it’s really because I can’t get enough seeing how happy you are.”

“That’s all you,” he said, rubbing the tip of his nose to hers.

“Is that what you think?” She asked as he loosened the next strap. “Don’t you see that you made a choice?”

“I choose you.” The second strap fell and he used his stump to push the neckline of her dress down.

Brienne suddenly swung her leg off his and got to her feet. He leaned back on the chair, leering at her as she tugged the dress down to her feet. His eyes dropped to the pale thicket of hair between her legs. It was difficult to see her slit in the limited light, but he could smell her. Rich, vanilla-laced woman. He raised his arms, and she went to pull off his t-shirt. Then he unzipped his shorts.

“You made the choice,” she said, spreading her thighs over his lap. He made her moan with a leisurely lick between her tits. He pushed her lower, until the spread lips of her cunt brushed the head of his penis. She gasped, thrusting instinctively.

She was a sweet, sweet mix of awkward, graceful and sure.

“You called me,” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “You looked for me. You asked me to meet you. You did it for yourself, Jaime.”

He grabbed her by the nape for a kiss. She continued rolling her hips, rubbing her moistening cunt against his cock. Her vanilla-laced musk wafted up his nostrils, making him harder.

“You could have said no,” he said, prompting her mouth to open wider for their tongues to spar. He licked her sweaty shoulder. “Could have had me arrested for stalking.”

She took him and then slid down, the tight, soaked walls of her cunt spreading around his cock. Their eyes met before her head fell forward, a groan leaving her lips as she fucked herself on his cock. “I trusted you from the start,” she gasped. “Wanted you too. I know that now.”

“Tell me what else you know,” he demanded breathlessly, fucking her right back. Frustrated that he couldn’t move as much, he embraced her and turned, lowering her to the floor. Together they pushed the coffee table away to make room for their big bodies. Brienne put her legs around his shoulders. The floor squeaked under them.

 _“Yes,”_ he gasped, his cock sliding inside her sticky, stubborn passage.

“I love you,” Brienne wailed as he angled his cock differently to hit a more sensitive spot inside her. She hugged him tightly. _“Jaime, I love you so much.”_

 

********

When Brienne woke up the next day, she found Jaime nestled warmly in her arms, his head resting between her tits. Had a hand over one of the small mounds, possessive even in sleep. She smiled, kissing the top of his golden hair and enjoying his peaceful expression. Seeing him content, with her, will always make her heart sing.

She lay there for a few minutes more, purring as his lips tugged at her nipple even in sleep. The sensation of his wet tongue was acute. She will have to wear a shirt under her blouse today.

Carefully, she shifted away from his embrace. If she didn’t have to go to the bathroom now, she would stay longer. Before heading out, she looked at him sprawled the bed, face pressed on her spot. Then she took the cellphone, carefully making her way through the obstacle course of discarded scarves, an empty tube of lube, a stained face towel.

Naked, she walked gingerly to the kitchen. Her pussy had been well used. After fucking in the porch, he had fucked her in the living room. In bed, he fucked her twice in the ass, his fingers relentlessly thrusting in her swollen pussy. She glanced down her body, blushing at the dried stains of his semen on her thighs.

She helped herself to  bottle of water from the fridge. The cool liquid was refreshing, banishing the dryness of mouth. She poured another glass and drank it too before going to the bathroom. Jaime was still fast asleep, hugging her pillow now. She licked her lips looking at the firm thrust of his backside before closing the door.

Sitting on the toilet, she scrolled through the calendar app for notifications, reminders. Nothing related to her work or anything personal. Today was an ordinary day.

Supposedly.

In the cabinet in the bathroom, she took out two slim, flat cartons. She read the instructions carefully as she returned to sit on the toilet. Then she stared at the yellow wall, at the window. She saw the day getting brighter as the sun rose.

It would be three days today.

From the cartons she pulled out slim sticks. Brienne held the stick under her as she peed, making sure to aim at it. She put it away then did the same to the next one. Then she set the timer on her phone.

Waiting for two minutes, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Did she look any different? She looked a little tired. A little sunburned. Will she look any different two minutes from now? Her nipples looked well-kissed and purple hickeys decorated her tits.

As her phone rang softly, indicating that time was up, she glanced at the sticks on the shelf.

In four steps their life would be either different or remain the same. Suddenly she looked behind her. Wondering if she should get Jaime.

No, she decided. This one she’ll have to deal with herself. It was only for a few seconds.

Despite the tension within, her hand was steady as she picked up the first stick. Then took the second. She stared at the results. Waited for shock. Disappointment. But why would they visit her, right this very moment? There was nothing to worry about it.

Nothing to regret.

She left the bathroom and returned to bed. The sun was up although it was only a little after five in the morning. Seeing Jaime’s back dotted with sweat, she pushed the blanket to his feet then joined him, squeezing next to him. His eyes opened, followed by a sleepy, beautiful smile, then a sweet, yearning kiss on her lips.

They exchanged lazy, slow kisses, mouths gentle in prompting the other to open, tongues sliding in for a small taste. She pulled Jaime on top of her, spreading her legs. Wanting him again. As she thrust her tongue in his mouth, something fluttered in her stomach.

It was a sensation that came only with Jaime was kissing her. She wondered if there was another reason now.

She stretched languidly as his lips moved to her sweaty throat, sucking briefly before grazing his teeth on her red nipples. Her spine curved high from the sensation, her heels digging in the mattress. Honey trickled out of her cunt.

Bearded lips drew sharply on nipple, pulling it laving it with more wet kisses. As she gasped and wailed his name, she saw him reach for something under his pillow. But then Jaime took her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. She kissed him back, wrapping her legs high around his waist, rubbed her slickening cunt against his cock.

Thumb and forefinger tugged at one of her swollen nipples as they kissed. As she cried out from the fiery burst of pleasure, he pulled away. She kept kissing him, barely noticing what he held in hand, at what he was doing with it.  It was only when he hissed and then let out a triumphant shout did she look at what he had.

With only a smile and eyes gleaming like emeralds in the sun, Jaime presented her with the box. Rather, its lone content: a princess-cut, sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds.

She stared at it with open-mouthed shock, sitting up. He went to sit beside her, pulling out the ring to hold it out to her this time. Though facets reflecting sunlight could pull any gaze, her eyes were on Jaime’s face. Hopeful. Happy. Loving her.

His stump went to touch her cheek and she nodded, clutching it to her face. Nodded vigorously as she smiled hugely.

Bursting from happiness, she grabbed his stump and pressed it to her stomach.

Confusion crossed over to shock. Shock leaped to. . .a sunny, big-dimpled smile. Jaime looked at her expectantly, pressing hand and stump on her flat stomach. She gave another nod.

He kissed her stomach.

Tears began to slide down her cheeks then, for the unimaginable, unexpected joy refused to be contained in her heart. As she sobbed and Jaime himself got a little misty-eyed, he slid the ring down her ringer. Then he spread his fingers on her stomach. Her hand, now wearing the ring, was placed over his. They looked at each other, their eyes watery from tears.

Still keeping his hand on her tummy, Jaime guided them back down the bed. Brienne lay in his arms, breathing in his smell, looking at him. Her hand joined his.

“Can I hold you until the sun sets?” She asked.

He kissed her hand and pulled it to cup his cheek. She snuggled closer, throwing her leg over his thigh.

“I never want to be far from your arms,” Jaime told her.

They smiled and reached for each other, moving closer until their noses bumped. Laughing, Jaime moved to rest his head between her breasts, wrapped an arm around her waist. Brienne hugged him, gently caressing his hair.

The sun continued to rise, bringing light to the world. A new, golden world that promised another life.  

It could not rival the heat of the kiss between Jaime and Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for loving Jaime and Brienne. 
> 
> I think, rather than complaining still how these characters were written in the final season, I would like to focus more on the Jaime and Brienne in my mind. In fanfic, Jaime will continue to live. He gets a chance of another life with Brienne. 
> 
> What is dead in canon will always find life in fanfic!

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Lannisters are working class.  
> 2\. No incest between Jaime and Cersei.  
> 3\. Cersei and Tyrion actually get on quite well.


End file.
